


Familiar Ties

by Why_Live_In_Reality



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has A Secret, Gabriel Has Issues (Good Omens), Gabriel wants revenge, Gen, Morgana loves to be annoying, Our favourite ineffable husbands are too smart for Gabriel, Well Morgana is too smart for Gabriel, gratuitous use of footnotes, happy ending i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Why_Live_In_Reality/pseuds/Why_Live_In_Reality
Summary: What if Crowley had a secret that he had managed to keep for 1500 years without even letting it slip to his closest companion? A secret he had held onto even through the Apocalypse-That-Didn't. A secret that is now being threatened by a vengeful Archangel.Can Aziraphale accept Crowley's secret? And is it worth putting themselves back in the paths of Heaven and Hell?And what if that secret was Morgana Le Fay?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	1. Running on Spite, Fury, and a Dash of Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Good Omens was always one of my favourite books and the tv show was just a thing of pure beauty and when this idea hit me, I OBVIOUSLY had to write it! And it just turned into something so much more than I thought it would, and I love it!  
> First time linking in the foot notes, so hopefully they work!

_It all began a long time ago…_  
*  
Humans believe that God is omnipotent or even omniscient.  
They are wrong.  
They are also wrong about God being omnipresent. Can you imagine being everywhere in all places at once? It would be madness!  
She’d never get anything done for a start.  
Which is why angels were created as extra sets of hands; children who could help their parent out with the world she had created.  
The first proof that God is not omnipotent or omniscient was the creation of Humanity themselves. For who could have truly predicted what those monkeys with anxiety would be capable of? Especially after being given the knowledge between good and evil and then cast out into a whole new world.  
Maybe there had been an original Great Plan once, back before the beginning, but now? Now it was as ineffable to God as it was the humans below.  
Not that she had any inclination to mention that to ANYONE. Be a bit strange wouldn’t it? God comes back and admits to having no plan and everyone should just carry on. _SO,_ instead she remained closed off in Heaven, watching her creations stumble through the world and heard every one of their uttered pleas, spending her time wondering if it had been a good idea to create humanity after all.  
*  
_The next time God would prove her lack of omnipotence, it would occur after a rogue angel and demon prevented Armageddon._  
_And not even God herself could’ve guessed what would happen…_  
  
~2019~  


It was bright.  
Heaven was always bright, floor to ceiling windows shining constant sunlight into pleasingly minimalist open spaces.  
Gabriel enjoyed the view out of the windows, enjoyed standing above the clouds and looking out over the cities of Humanity[1].  
Tugging his immaculate suit jacket straight with a sniff, Gabriel took a last look out of the window before turning on his heel and strolled along the expansive floor.  
Office space was a strange concept to associate with Heaven, but Gabriel liked order and rules. And he had been almost uncharacteristically excited about adopting such a human idea.  
The office Gabriel had constructed was simply a smaller version of the outer Halls of Heaven, still bright and empty, save the long and wide desk that sat in front of the window with the impressive, executive chair behind it.  
“Ah, your Archangelship? Gabriel?”  
“Yes!” Gabriel’s voice echoed pleasantly in his office, the dark haired, violet eyed Archangel turning to find a smaller, lesser Angel nervously standing in the entrance. There was a faint tremble running along their arm, the paper file they were holding shaking slightly.  
Good. If an Archangel couldn’t instil just the tiniest fragment of fear into their lesser, they weren’t fit for their position.  
“T-the file-” the angel swallowed and tried again, “The file you requested. From Jophiel.”  
“Ah!” Gabriel clapped his hands together, rubbing them slightly before plucking the file from the shaking hand. “Well done. You can leave.”  
The lesser Angel almost tripped over their feet trying to get away.  
Gabriel placed the file down and flipped it open. His usually relaxed, easy smile twisted into a scowl at the photo clipped inside.  
It was of a young woman, almost ageless with bright brown eyes and a dazzling smile. It was recent, her hair shorter than he’d seen before and absurdly coloured. She’d changed quite a bit since he’d last tracked her movements.  
Morgana Le Fay. An Abomination that had been a thorn in Gabriel’s side for hundreds of years.  
Angel’s weren’t made to hate, but Gabriel had definitely hated this particular Abomination since her creation.  
She made the records untidy, an unusual blip in the normally predictable lives of humans. And she was far too confident in her continued survival, always cocksure she would survive thanks to her damned father and infernal mother.  
“Let’s see…” Gabriel sat in his chair to flip viciously through the pages. “Where are you and what have you been doing? Probably running around with your traitorous creator, corrupting one of our own kind, or the humans, before laughing about it no doubt.”  
Time has no meaning in Heaven, but if it did, hours passed before Gabriel sat back with a strangely pleased face.  
“So the little witch has returned home. But then again, she always has... despite my best efforts.” Gabriel waved a hand and the papers lifted from the file, reordering themselves to show a report from 15th century France. The capture and prosecution of Joan of Arc should have been simple. Humans were so easy to fool within the structure of the Church. But that ridiculously soft Aziraphale had tried to intervene with his inconceivable love of humans. He hadn’t even realised who he was defending.  
And as such, Gabriel had been forced to agree to elevate Joan of Arc to sainthood after her “death”. She’d laughed at him next time he had appeared to threaten her, asked if it had burned his hand to sign his name on that particular order.  
Gabriel ground his perfect teeth.  
Maybe Aziraphale had known all along his precious human Joan of Arc was the unholy Morgana Le Fay. Given the all too recent betrayal of the human-loving Principality, Gabriel was willing to believe that Aziraphale had known the entire time and had done it to spite him, to undermine him. Especially since his betrayal also revealed the close relationship between him and that blessed demon Crowley, maybe all three of them had been in on it together-  
Gabriel forced himself to blow unneeded air from his lungs, pulling his shoulders back in an effort to keep his cool. Archangels did not lose their temper that easily.  
He had to finally do something that would get rid of that Abomination for good. She could not be allowed to continue now. Heaven would not stand for another slight.  
Plucking the nearly see-through block that passed as a phone in Heaven from his jacket, Gabriel hesitated before pressing anything. Without explanation, he got to his feet and strode across to the door to shut it tight. Using a private, and totally unauthorised, miracle, he sound-proofed it and finally hit several buttons on the phone.  
He would have to find a way to thank Michael for this little idea, no back channels indeed!  
  


><   
  


Far below Heaven (almost as far as you could get), an unfortunate demon clawed frantically at the dirty hand choking its windpipe.  
“Gahrk! N-no, I didn’t-”  
A brief blaze of fire flared, the rancid smell of burnt flesh, soured ichor and ash blending seamlessly in with the rest of Hell’s various rank odours as the demon vanished with a gurgled scream.  
The black-eyed demon dressed in a filthy coat shook remaining ash off of his hand before smirking nastily.  
“Shouldna bumped me.” He muttered to himself, stalking back to a desk piled high of miscellaneous files[2]. Sitting heavily, he scratched at the wispy ends of his hair, just missing the foot of the frog that resided on his head. A few flakes of dead skin drifted down to land on the blood red file sitting on top of the desk.  
“Whut’s this?”  
Blackened fingernails crumpled the cover back, the spiderscrawl writing inside being revealed.  
Black eyes narrowed dangerously and many older demons sharing the same cramped office found themselves wondering how quickly they could make it to the exits before freezing in place as a hysterical laugh forced its way out of thin lips.  
“She’s back! Hah! Now’s my bloody chance!” The demon stood, file clutched tightly in a filthy hand and a manic grin on his face. Several demons flattened themselves to the wall as he passed, more unnerved by his smile than when he scowled.  
  


Beelzebub wrinkled their nose as the smell of recently incinerated imps blew into the execution chamber, setting their flies buzzing furiously.  
“What do you want Hastur?” They asked, drawling in annoyance at being interrupted. “We’re in the middle of something here.”  
Hastur, still wielding the file like a weapon, glanced around and spotted the trembling, misshapen demon cowering in front of Beelzebub’s throne.  
“Oh.” Hastur reached out and grabbed the demon, lifting them off the floor. “Are you sorry for what you did? Truly and utterly?”  
“Yes!!” The demon squeaked, struggling fruitlessly. “Yes! Yes!!”  
“Too late.” Hastur grinned terribly as the demon disintegrated to ash in front of him before turning back to a bored looking Beelzebub. “Lord Beelzebub, the Abomination, she’s returned!”  
Beelzebub held out their hand and snapped their slim fingers impatiently. Hastur hurried over, fumbling the file over with an awkward bow before Beezlebub flipped through the pages inside.  
“So she has. Which means our King will know of this too. As will her creator-“  
“Traitor!” Hastur snarled and spat a black glob onto the floor.  
“Yes, yes. “ Beelzebub flapped their hand idly. “But what do we do? What to do, what to do…”  
“Let me go after her,” Hastur stepped forward, dark eyes glittering madly. “I can finally get rid of her, like Crowley destroyed Ligur.”  
“Yes, Ligur was a loss…” Beelzebub looked back the file curiously. “It’s odd. Just today, the Archangel Gabriel informed us of her return, asking for our help to rid humanity of this threat... asking for a particular Hellspawn…”  
“Him? But, he doesn’t-“  
“But they don’t know that Hastur, and we’ll keep that to ourselves.” Beelzebub sniffed, straightening on their throne and giving a small, rare smile. “Our King will be very pleased to finally have the Abomination’s soul in return for helping Heaven get rid of her. Hastur, you will talk to Gabriel yourself and tell him that we agree to give him the Hellspawn once we have captured Morgana and handed her over to him.”  
“We won’t be the ones killin’ her then?” Hastur tried not to sound disappointed.  
“No. We don’t want an angry Crowley on our hands, let Heaven deal with both of them.” Beelzebub smiled widely. It was not a pleasant smile. “But rest assured, that traitor will know the pain of losing something that he cares for, just as you did.”  
  


><   
  


The traitor in question, Crowley, had been hiding in the bookshop for the last three days.  
Well, hiding was a bit strong of a word for sleeping in the back room.  
Averting the Apocalypse and flipping the finger to both Heaven and Hell was tiring work. And after thinking he’d lost his oldest, closest and dearest friend in a fire that destroyed the store he was currently napping in, Crowley also didn’t want to be far from Aziraphale.  
Speaking of…  
A gentle hand rested on his coiled form, Crowley’s tongue flicking out to taste cocoa, parchment, and something that was so uniquely Aziraphale, he could never mistake it for anything else.  
“Still sleeping dear boy? I suppose averting the end of the world is a tiring business. We’ve earned our rest.”  
Crowley chose to remain silent, scales drinking in the warmth greedily as he heard the couch creak and dip, Aziraphale settling himself with one hand still on Crowley and the other holding a book open.  
“You know, I was thinking about what we’re going to do with our time now that we’re effectively retired.”  
Crowley groaned internally, tightening his coils and hissing quietly to express his distaste at the conversation.  
“We can’t just twiddle our thumbs forever. I’d like a plan.”  
_And I’d like a drink.”_  
“You drank it all last night.”  
_“Did not!”_  
“You did! I had to pull you out of the bottle! You were determined to find the last drop.”  
Crowley tucked his head under his body and flicked Aziraphale’s thigh with his tail.  
There was a light chuckle, the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand moving away and Crowley lifted his head, eyes now open and annoyed.  
“Now now dearest, I thought I heard the bell above the shop door. Won’t be a moment.”  
Crowley flickered his tongue out bad temperedly and slowly uncoiled, dropping in lazy links to the ground where, with only the slightest disturbance of the dust motes, he pulled himself back into his human form with a wince and straightened his dark glasses.  
“Right, shoulda probably stretched.” He muttered, cracking his neck slightly to the side with a loud pop. Slinking in his usual fashion, Crowley followed Aziraphale’s footsteps and lurked around the edge of the wall to see if he could spy the supposed intruder of his afternoon nap.  
A flash of pastel pink caught his reptilian eyes and Crowley reared back into the shadows.  
No?!  
Not here?  
She damn well promised!  
Raising a clenched fist to his mouth, Crowley bit down on his knuckles sharply to swallow the distressed shout trapped in his throat.  
“Paper, paper- need a bloody pen and paper!” Crowley hissed, momentarily forgetting he was standing in a book shop and surrounded by paper[3], before spotting an old inkwell on a desk with a convenient quill nearby.  
As quickly as his shaking hands would manage, Crowley wrangled the quill under his control and began to scrawl a message across the old map of England Aziraphale had used to track Adam down.  
_“Angel, something came up. Don’t worry. Just popping back to my place for a bit. See you round. Ta!”_  
Tossing the quill away, Crowley practically ran before the ink had finished drying and was legging it out the back door as Aziraphale walked back through.  
“Quite peculiar… really most peculiar. I say, Crowley? Do you remember the Domanni Chronicles? The incredibly rare final volume, you know, the one you miraculously found undamaged after that nasty fire? I’ve just had someone ask if I knew where it was! Can you imagine? How would any human alive know of it nowadays, it’s that ancient-” Aziraphale became aware that he was having a one sided conversation. “Crowley? Oh.”  
He had spotted the note, peering through his glasses carefully to read the slightly dripping ink.  
“Just popping home? Ta?! Dear, oh dear. I do hope it’s nothing serious.”  
  


><   
  


With barely a whisper, a woman appeared from nothing, swaying slightly on the pavement of a Mayfair street before straightening and attempting to fix her wild pink hair. A large black raven swooped down from a nearby rooftop to perch easily on her shoulder.  
"So? How'd it go?" It croaked in her ear.  
"The Angel’s still alive, still in his book shop. Couldn’t tell if he’d been there lately. Everything was confused." The woman swallowed the nasty metallic taste in the back of her throat as she looked around. "Did you find out what happened downstairs Matthew?"  
"Sort of. You're not gonna like it Morgan…" the raven warned, "There was a trial-"  
"In Hell? Like that was fair."  
"The punishment was Holy Water."  
Morgan froze, staring unseeingly at the road ahead of her as the heavy, pinpricks of the raven's claws shuffled on her shoulder.  
Holy Water!  
There was no way- he just couldn't have survived! He was gone! Why was she still here? Crowley! How could it have happened?! Why was the Angel still alive? What was she going to do now, without him...  
The raven nudged its ebony beak against her head with a gentle caw.  
"I'm sorry Morgan."  
"Yeah…" Morgan blinked a few times, blowing out a breath in order to try and ground herself as a growing numbness began to spread throughout her body.  
"What are you going to do now?"  
"I guess- I guess I should go to his apartment and try figure out what happens next." Morgan started walking, still not seeing her surroundings until a glint of weak sunlight reflected off of a sleek, black vehicle, her eyes focusing on the car suddenly.  
It was parked in its usual place, right outside an equally sleek building, radiating a suspicious innocence[4].  
"Well, well, well, guess you survived…" Morgan whispered to herself as she crossed the road without looking, to gently run a hand over the bonnet of the car.  
There was a spark of something, a resonance of sorts, and Morgan smiled.  
"It's good to see you too old girl. Now, what about your owner? What happened to him?"  
A song immediately came to mind, particular lyrics rising to the surface of Morgan's mind.  
_“Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever? Forever is our today.”_  
Morgan hissed through her teeth, suspicion suddenly pumping through her body. While not entirely used to communicating with sentient vehicles, she was able to get the implied gist.  
"So is he dead or not?!"  
The Bentley didn't answer, choosing to stay silent.  
"Uh oh." Matthew shuffled, wings tensing to fly as he felt the energy of the witch beneath him begin to darken.  
"Matthew. Go back to Mother. I'm going to take a look around."  
"Right. Totally understood boss. Going now." Matthew took to the sky without a second thought, pretty sure that even if Crowley had somehow managed to survive Holy Water, he might not survive Morgan.  
  
Morgan stalked up to the door, the door swinging open the second her gaze landed upon it as if afraid of scorching.  
"Good." Morgan stomped inside, the heels of her boots ringing on concrete floors as she paced through the rooms. His energy was still here, strange and familiar all at the same time and it only served to annoy her more. Had he survived or not?!  
Crowley?!" She called loudly, folding her arms angrily in front of an elaborate statue.  
There!  
Shock, emanating from his study. He _was_ here! _How?!_  
Morgan began to walk slowly down the slate grey hallway, trailing her fingers over the cool stone as the distant shock settled into panicked puzzlement with a slight tinge of annoyance.  
Ah, that was more like it. Time to draw him out.  
"Anthony J. Crowley! Get out here! We need to talk!" Morgan ordered, snapping her fingers impatiently with a dark smile as the annoyed energy grew and moved.  
"Nah!" Came the drawled reply[5].  
"Damn it Crowley! Now!"  
"Make me!"  
"Don't tempt me snake!"  
"Witch!"  
"NOW!"  
The massive sliding door at the very end of the hallway revolved, a familiar angular form sauntering out and mockingly mirroring her posture.  
"Well?" He threw at her, arching an eyebrow.  
Morgan couldn't quite form words, choosing instead to march down the rest of the hallway and come toe-to-toe with the man now eyeing her warily with exposed yellow eyes.  
He was real; this close, she could feel his weak body heat, see the useless rise and fall of his chest, even sense the space his wings would take up. He. Was. Alive.  
Crowley tensed[6] as Morgan just stared at him. The energy rippling off her was hard to ignore, his indoor garden beginning to react. Several of the larger plants were trembling still, but younger and more insubordinate plants had the cheek to try wilting. That would not do!  
"Not in front of the plants-" was all Crowley got out before Morgan's hand swung round and caught a stinging slap right against his jaw. "Ah!"  
"You- you utter bastard!" Morgan spat, breathing heavily as Crowley stumbled backwards[7] . "I felt it! Felt every last bit of it! You died!"  
"Clearly not." Crowley winced even as he said the words, hating his need to quip at inopportune moments. Especially as Morgan growled and launched herself at him, hands digging in painfully as they both hit the floor.  
"Good fucking thing too, or I wouldn't be able to kill you for it!" She hissed through clenched teeth. "You do NOT get to die on me!"  
Crowley snarled, twisting slightly as Morgan drew her hand back again. He managed to yank himself to the side, Morgan's closed fist striking the concrete hard enough to cause an audible crack.  
"FUCK!"  
Crowley rolled and pinned a thrashing Morgan under him, taking just enough care to avoid her clearly broken hand.  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He demanded, forcing Morgan to look at him.  
"I thought you'd died!" Morgan just about screamed, tears streaming from her eyes as her jet black wings unfurled suddenly, brought forward by the strength of her emotion and bucking wildly against the floor beneath her. "I couldn't- you were gone- _the bloody Apocalypse_! How dare you put me through this! I should kill you!"  
"There was an Armageddon to stop, you crazy woman!"  
"You died." Morgan repeated, anger fading. "I felt- I thought you were gone. You were dead."  
Crowley stared down at her, his own anger at being attacked quickly draining at the tortured expression on Morgan's face.  
"Oh, sweet girl..." Crowley crooned, twitching awkwardly as his own wings popped into existence, much larger and capable of draping over the pair to create a dark cocoon[8].  
"I felt you disappear," Morgan whimpered, "and the pain! What happened? I could feel you burning, could feel your fear and panic. What happened?!"  
"Preventing the end of the world pissed off the head offices. Go figure."  
"How do you survive? Matthew said they used Holy Water. You couldn't have survived that. You're good at getting out of trouble, but not even you are that good!"  
"Oi!"  
Morgan sniffled pathetically, momentarily letting go of her need to know what happened in order to head butt Crowley lightly.  
"Tricksy snake."  
"Daft witch. Where the hell were you as the world ended?" Crowley muttered gently.  
"Stuck in traffic. Where do you think, you lanky prat."  
Crowley chuckled, finally releasing his grip on her and tenderly touching his fingers to her swollen hand to miraculously heal the broken bones.  
Morgan smiled weakly, anger fading and pure relief taking its place.  
"Better?" Crowley asked, linking fingers with her and rotating her wrist carefully.  
"Yeah, thanks." Morgan struggled up, Crowley shuffling back awkwardly using his wings for balance.  
Morgan stared at Crowley's wings.  
It had been a long time since she'd last seen them out and fluttering like this, the nearby plants shaking in the breeze created[9].  
Crowley fidgeted as Morgan just stared in silence. He wanted to run, hide somewhere until the guilty, sucking feeling in his gut disappeared. Why was he feeling like that anyway? It wasn't like he'd _planned_ to swap bodies with the angel and walk into Heaven.  
"The plants are looking good. Traumatized, but so lush." Morgan commented suddenly, throwing Crowley for a loop. So he fell back on a well-known line.  
"They should be. I terrify them daily." A thought suddenly managed to make itself heard above everything else. "No! Get up! I'm not letting them see this! I worked too hard to let them get slack! Move!"  
Morgan let Crowley haul her up, both of them folding their wings out of this plane of existence before he pulled her into the study, the door swinging shut slowly behind them.  
"Don't want them getting any ideas." Crowley muttered by way of an apology, glancing at Morgan, who hadn't let go of his hand yet.  
There was that guilty, sucking feeling again.  
Crowley sighed heavily and pulled his hand from Morgan’s before leaning against the grand desk and tapping his fingers against the surface.  
Morgan glanced around, the view from the large windows catching her attention for a brief moment.  
She was so relieved to find Crowley alive and as irritating as ever, she could hardly process how she was actually feeling. Part of her wondered if that was due to their close proximity, Crowley's relief at having survived both a trial and death mingling with her own relief and causing a short circuit. Like when two positive ends of a magnet are pushed together, only to freak out and jump away at the last moment.  
But Morgan didn't want to jump away at the last moment. She wasn't all demon (just mostly), she didn't have to avoid love the way Crowley tried to. She could express whatever the fuck she wanted, however the fuck she wanted.  
Before she could talk herself out of it, Morgan crossed to Crowley and planted her head straight into his chest face first.  
Crowley froze, lifting his hands in shock as Morgan leaned against him without a word.  
Morgan curved her arms around him, breathing in that burnt, spiced scent that she was used too after so long and had almost lost.  
Eventually, Crowley shifted, arms draping over and around Morgan from the awkward position he was holding them in. He wasn't sure how to respond, simply curving a hand up to rest on the back of Morgan's head. It was strangely nice, getting the reminder that she'd have been pissed off if he'd died.  
That gnawing guilt came back as he realised he’d still have to tell her about what had happened.  
He'd been too busy[10] to really dwell on any danger Morgan may have been in during the lead up to the end of the World. He'd known she could look after herself after all. And there was no way Lilith would have let Morgan suffer during the Apocalypse, she'd have kept her safe.  
Even Crowley had to admit, that was a lousy excuse for not thinking about the creature he’d become so fond of over the centuries. Shouldn’t he care more for the creature he’d helped create? Isn’t that something parents should do? But all he'd had a mind for was finding Aziraphale and saving the world. Aannnndd, back came the guilt.  
Without really thinking about it, his arms tightened around her.  
Morgan gave a small smile against him.  
She was feeling the energy pouring from Crowley, in small droplets, warm and comforting. And only slightly edged with sadness.  
A thought came to mind and Morgan leaned back with a sly grin.  
"Can I get a wahoo?" She asked, watching Crowley flicker through various emotions and responses before settling on an amused huff.  
"Wahoo." He replied with a smile on his face[11].  
“How did you even manage it Crowley?” Morgan asked, “How did you survive Hell’s idea of a trial?”  
"Yeeaahh… about that?" Crowley figured this was his opportunity. "Just keep this to yourself, but it wasn’t actually me down there.”  
Morgan stared, not understanding at all.  
“Me and Aziraphale, we sorta, _switched_ bodies. Like, like, like… bottles!”  
“I have so many questions.” Morgan deadpanned, taking a step back and folding her arms. “Explain yourself old man.”  
“Like taking an expensive wine and a cheap wine and swapping the liquid inside the bottles.” Crowley was gesturing manically, warming up to his analogy. “The expensive wine would still look like an expensive wine, but taste like cheap wine! Get it?”  
“You’re saying you look expensive, but you’re trash on the inside? I could’ve told you that.”  
Crowley nodded at first, only to scowl as her words sunk in.  
“No! Look. My body walked into Hell with the Angel’s soul- essence? Whatever! The point, the point is, my body survived Holy water because it had an angel inside of it.”  
Morgan had somehow managed to keep a straight face at Crowley’s description, not a muscle twitching.  
“So what happen to the Angel’s body?” She said eventually, managing to catch her laugh and turn it into a cough.  
“Oh. I slipped inside of his body and went upstairs to see what they had in mind for him.”  
Crowley dropped the significant information with such aloof casualness that Morgan completely bypassed the innuendo and went straight for aghast horror.  
“Upstairs?! _Heaven!_ You walked into Heaven on the _chance_ that they wouldn’t be able to tell it was really Aziraphale?!”  
“Yup. Hurt like a bitch, but worth it to see their faces when I stepped into that Hellfire and scared-“  
“ _Hellfire?!_ ”  
“Yeah, bastards.” Crowley sneered, “Made it all the more satisfying when I decided to scare them shitless by breathing it at them.”  
“Holy Mother of all things demonic.” Morgan breathed, mind spinning. “They were both prepared to destroy you completely… Hellfire and Holy water, fuck.”  
“Kinda owe the Angel for the idea of swapping faces. My plan was to run away to Alpha Centuri.”  
“You always suggest running away to Alpha Centuri.” Morgan rolled her eyes, glad of an old joke to fall back on instead of dwelling on what could’ve been. “How’d he figure it out?”  
“Some old prophecy book, a sixteenth century witch who proved to be pretty accurate. Probably owe her a thanks too.”  
“Probably.” Morgan muttered, knowing of only one witch that would’ve had that sort of ability. “Glad to know you’re both ok though.”  
“That’s why you just ‘happened’ to show up in a particular book shop this afternoon.” Crowley grinned at the look of guilt that flashed on Morgan’s face. “Thought so. Thought I was going mad.”  
“I wanted to know. I’m kinda fond of him myself you know.”  
“He doesn’t even know who you are!”  
“And whose fault is that daddy dearest?” Morgan shot back. “Who won’t tell him about me?”  
“Well, now you know I’m ok, still living, still breathing- well, pretending to breathe. Nice of you to pop in, there’s the door. See you later.” Crowley grabbed her arm and began dragging her back through the apartment as Morgan laughed at his sudden fluster.  
“Alright, alright Crowley, I’ll run along and continue to mind my own business and definitely not poke my nose into your centuries old relationship with an ethereal being.”  
“Hah.” Crowley flung the door open and pointed outside dramatically like he was dismissing a wayward pet.  
“You’re right, that’ll never happen. It’s like having my own private soap to watch.” Morgan risked her potential death and hopped up on tiptoe to peck Crowley’s cheek before ducking past him. “I’ll see you in a coupla days, yeah?”  
Crowley scowled at her, a smudge of dark colour from her lipstick lingering on his cheek.  
“Sure. Whatever will get rid of you fastest.”  
“See you round father.” Morgan sauntered off as Crowley slammed the door. “See you round.”  
  


><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

[1] Not because he had any true care for Humanity and their short lives. No, Gabriel enjoyed knowing he stood above those humans as their guiding light. Yes, he is very out of touch and pompous. Yes, he thinks that’s a compliment.

[2] If Heaven viewed office work as beneficial, Hell had taken the idea and turned it into something akin to the Human experience, aka, torture. Most of the files were empty or contained interesting bits of mould or skin.

[3] And that he could have simply created pen and paper if his distracted reptile brain had thought about it.

[4] The Bentley had always seemed far too alive to Morgan, and she just knew the car had definitely fucked with her in the past. That’s what came of competing for the attention of a particular demon.

[5] Morgan just about fainted from relief, which only left room for her anger at being made to think he was dead to grow.

[6] More so than usual that is.

[7] Every single plant froze and did their best impression of being a plant that minded their own business.

[8] Crowley still kept Morgan pinned down though. He wasn't that stupid, she was still mad at him. And there was no way he was going to risk having feathers pulled out.

[9] Or maybe they were still shaking from their usual fear and trauma. It could be hard to tell at times.

[10] Stopping the end of the world was a pretty decent excuse though Crowley reckoned.

[11] He should never have told her about that little slip up during his presentation.


	2. We Live to Avoid Confrontation

*  
_It can be said that as the being of all Creation, God would not have favourites among her angelic children, and even less so among the creatures that are said to be the anti-thesis of her angels._  
_But it can also be said that after Millennia of observing the primitive creatures that had been sculpted by her hand, maybe God had, in turn, been shaped by their continued belief in her. Made more human, more sympathetic to the human narrative of the underdog and their struggles against the forces mounted against them…_  
_Maybe._  
_Or perhaps endless time creates an endless boredom, and boredom could turn anyone’s attention to the lives of others for just the smallest taste of amusement to spice the bland palette of Eternity._  
_Maybe, just maybe, after the Divine War was thwarted, God found herself drawn to watch the lives of the two beings responsible. Two of her most arguably flawed children._  
_And that would lead her to meet another being. A being who had so far managed to live on the edge of God’s focus… until now._  
*

~2019~  
  
Imagine you were standing at a large window in the spotless expanse of Heaven, perhaps in God's office.  
Looking out past clouds and blue skies, a world comes into focus below. Zoom into a bird's eye view of the spinning globe's cities, homing in on London in the United Kingdom. Span over the grey, busy streets, see the countless mortals hurrying from one place to another in a frantic race of life.  
See a large slice of green amongst the blocky buildings of the past and sleek buildings of the present.  
A park.  
Follow the ribbon of water that flows through the trees and the rolling grass flats, to a bench facing the water.  
A lanky, reclined gentleman in black has occupied two thirds of the bench, limbs strewn carelessly about as his company makes them self comfortable against the arm lying against the back of the bench.  
They make a strangely odd, matching pair.  
He with his bright red hair, made brighter by the black clothing that encased his frame. Black painted fingernails already showing signs of chipping and biting are tapping the arm rest intermittently, a bright glimpse of expensive silver on his wrist as the sleeve of his jacket moves. An odd scarf or untied cravat perhaps decorates his neck, the soft colour drawing eyes down to the exquisite tooled belt resembling a snake. The artfully scuffed black leather boots complete the look, everything screaming the distressed, “devil-may-care” fashion that came from spending copious amounts of money. You may presume he is an aged rock star, still clinging to youth. Yet you cannot determine his age, not helped by his eyes being hidden behind a peculiar pair of black tinted circular glasses, or the eerily unlined mouth that opened and closed several times, as if on the edge of conversation, before snapping shut and tensing slightly.  
And his companion is just as ageless, despite the pastel pink hair exploding in waves from under the soft, wide brimmed black hat. Dark purple tinted, sunglasses shield her eyes from the weak sun, you can catch glimpses of dark brown eyes behind them. Her lips are painted a dark maroon as she idly rips bread into small chunks with elegant, metallic black nails. Compared to his black ensemble, her clothing is far softer in a charcoal grey, knitted cardigan draped over a grey camisole and dark tartan skirt, navy and emerald in colour. Her legs are encased in humorous tights with black cat’s ears and large eyes over her knees and ending inside the black suede, chunky high heeled boots covered in shiny silver spikes. A black choker decorated with a silver pentagram, chains and two small amethyst prisms catches the light as she tossed her hair back over one shoulder.  
Their clothing and careless attitude linked them inextricably.  
Maybe birds of a feather, or a relationship of sorts, it was clear in the way they sit easily in each other's company.  
As the man reaches out and tugs a curling strand of her pink hair in a completely familiar way, you wonder just how long they've known each other.  
  
"Why pink?" Crowley drawled, his patience with the silence finally snapping.  
"Nothing wrong with pink." Morgan replied with a smile, reaching up to bat his hand away fondly.  
"Yeah, but what daughter of a Disgraced Demon has pink hair?"  
"Your hair is bright red."  
"It's thematic."  
"Uh huh."  
Crowley tipped his head back with a drawn out sigh, eventually finding a mind receptive to temptation.  
Morgan stifled a laugh as a nearby man in a dark trench coat and glasses dropped his suspiciously innocent briefcase, a large goose attacking his ankles with clear intent and viciousness while honking.  
"Really?" She asked, once she trusted her voice.  
"They are naturally good at being vindictive. It hardly takes effort."  
"Getting bored?"  
"Very."  
"Fine." Morgan stood, tossing the chunks of bread from her hand into the pond where the ducks promptly fought for them. "Let's go somewhere else."  
"Great. Lunch?" Crowley leapt to his feet far too elegantly for someone who seemed to have too many joints all joined by elastic.  
"It's midmorning."  
"Brunch then." Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets as Morgan slung her backpack over her shoulders.  
"Fine you insatiable old snake."  
Crowley hissed sarcastically as they started off down the path, both already knowing where they were going[1].  
It was impossible to simply stroll with Crowley, his long limbs covering twice the distance of Morgan's normal stride, forcing her to walk faster or get left behind.  
In order to slow him down just enough to save her feet, Morgan reached out and hooked her hand around his bent elbow. With a firm tug, she forced him to slow to an amble with her comfortably walking beside him.  
Crowley glanced down at her with an arched eyebrow, but didn't bother shaking her off anymore. He’d learned not to. Morgan was much more comfortable with physical, public displays than he was, less likely to worry about being watched by the wrong people.  
Came from her human heritage he supposed in the privacy of his own mind, despite knowing without a doubt, the small woman clinging to his arm was only slightly more human than he was. Which said quite a lot... And meant Crowley had learnt to put up with clear displays of affection[2].  
The uniquely matched couple reached the end of the path, exiting the park and approaching where a sleek black Bentley was parked.  
"Funny. I thought this was a no parking zone." Morgan commented.  
"Oh. It is." Crowley's wolfish grin was contagious as they slipped into the exquisite car without ever noticing their hidden observer.  
  
><  
  
Aziraphale was surprised the demon hadn't heard his heart rate, sure it was only one beat away from causing him to discorporate again.  
He'd been returning from a meeting with another books dealer who had wanted help finding a very rare volume[3] when Aziraphale had spotted the Bentley. Since there was only one person he knew to own such a well-kept vintage car, Aziraphale decided to stroll through the park and surprise Crowley with a spontaneous bit of duck feeding, and possibly ice cream since it had been a day or two since he had left in such a hurry.  
But he wasn't sure why then he'd chosen to remain hidden after spotting Crowley sitting in their usual bench. It wasn't unusual for them to be in St James Park separately, it was a public park after all. And Aziraphale knew, on some level, that Crowley had his own life and his own business to attend too, that he couldn't expect the demon to only spend his time with him and no one else… even if that was how it always seemed.  
But when he'd caught sight of Crowley sitting alone in the park apparently waiting for something unknown, a sudden need for secrecy had taken over him and Aziraphale had faded into the background behind a tree nearby. He'd waited for 10 minutes, dampening his natural angelic aura to remain undetected. Crowley had lounged on the bench, occasionally checking his phone. Aziraphale had started to feel embarrassed, planning to reveal himself and act as if he had never been hiding in the first place, when a young woman with pink hair had bounded over and flung her arms around Crowley without hesitation in an awfully presumptuous way.  
Crowley had reacted like a scalded cat, pushing her away with a scowl as she laughed before he slung a reluctant arm around her shoulder for a mere second[4].  
Aziraphale had felt his mouth dry, drawing back further behind the tree.  
Crowley hated physical acts in public, yet his reaction was nowhere near as visceral as Aziraphale had seen in the past. Or maybe that was just with him…  
And afterwards, watching Crowley just flop back onto the bench, the young woman sitting scandalously close beside him as she'd tossed bread to the gathering ducks, Aziraphale had felt his mood darken further.  
Who was this person? Meeting _his_ demon where said demon would normally spend time with _him_!  
Aziraphale couldn't risk doing anything to get rid of her, not without alerting Crowley to his presence. And Aziraphale was fairly certain Crowley wouldn't be appreciative of being spied on, especially not by his companion from throughout the Millennia.  
But who was she?!  
In all their years of friendship, or whatever it was they had, Crowley had never mentioned someone else. Was it someone human? Another demon?  
And if it was another demon, after openly rebelling against both Heaven and Hell, why on Earth would Crowley trust another member of the Hellish Brigade? If he was meeting a demon, Aziraphale should have known about it to be ready to help him.  
And then, oh, _and then_! Then Crowley offered up lunch with her! With this, this stranger!  
Aziraphale had trailed after them, heart like a stone, tempted to do something decidedly unAngel-like when she slipped her hand into Crowley's arm so casually.  
She'd called him a snake, did she _know_ of Crowley's past and creation? Who he truly was?  
Watching the demon and his mysterious companion get into the Bentley and disappear into the London traffic, the angel revealed himself and permitted a small miracle that would allow him to know exactly where they stopped.  
He wasn't sure how to feel about his sudden possessiveness over this issue. It certainly couldn't be considered angelic…  
Aziraphale didn't own Crowley, Crowley was his own pers- demon. He could have friends that weren't Aziraphale, that was completely acceptable, and Aziraphale was fine with that.  
Yes.  
Totally fine.  
Which is why he was just going to go for a walk.  
Just a walk...  
That happened to be in same direction the Bentley had disappeared in… a complete coincidence of course.  
  
><  
  
Crowley groaned inwardly as Morgan guided them towards the Egyptian halls again. He knew where this path would take them and knew where that would lead.  
But Morgan had bribed him with already, the coffee cup still in his hand as they strolled along the echoing hallway.  
"I just wish I could've seen them." Morgan breathed, eyes lighting up as she stared at the treasures unearthed and depictions painted on the wall.  
"It was hot and dusty, not to mention a little boring."  
"The snake in you loved it."  
"Oh, absolutely."  
Morgan smiled, taking a sip from her own cup.  
"You've seen so much Crowley. I could hate you for that."  
"You'd never."  
"Nah. I don't think it's possible. I've tried."  
"What?! Why?"  
"Boredom." Morgan stuck her tongue out as Crowley huffed and nudged her towards the next room.  
As they passed through various exhibits, Morgan realised that she was the one now being steered.  
"Oh no. This is unfair. Come on, let's go downstairs."  
"No, no, no. If you want me to regale you with tales about Egypt and Rome, you have to walk through your past too." Crowley pointed out, a wicked grin slithering over his face as Morgan swore under her breath.  
"That's hardly fair. This entire bloody museum is your past. I'm not as old as you." Morgan sulked as they continued on.  
"Not my fault sweet girl." Crowley's grinned dropped, suddenly leaning over a display case intensely. "Those buggers!"  
"What?"  
"That's- right there! That's mine!"  
Morgan glanced at the collection underneath the glass. It was a set of fashion accessories from a century or so before her human birth (according to the little plague anyway), and Crowley was glaring at one in particular.  
"Cost a bloody fortune to get it made, always thought I'd just find it again, I knew I didn't lose it! The buggers pinched it! Pinched it! _From me!_ "  
The object of Crowley's ranting was an intricate belt buckle in gold and black with the decoration of entwined creatures.  
"But the joke’s on them. I'm going to get it back!" Crowley lifted a hand triumphantly and Morgan grabbed his arm, snapping her attention away from the case.  
"Bloody Hell, just gimme a-" Morgan glanced over her shoulder before making a brief sweeping motion with her hand. All of a sudden, both her and Crowley felt the air pressure change, other people's gazes just slipping off them like oil on water.  
"You can't just go and steal things back from a museum!" She protested, still hanging onto Crowley's arm uselessly.  
"Why not?! They stole it first!" Crowley shook her off easily and plunged his arm through the glass casing.  
Morgan winced, expecting the shatter of glass. But Crowley had worked his own miracle, the glass simply rippling and letting his arm pass through without resistance.  
"Bastards. Stealing my blessed belt buckle…" Crowley withdrew his arm with a grim smile. "Hah! Mine again now suckers!"  
"Now what?" Morgan asked, one hand on her hip. "You're just going to leave a great big sodding hole in the museum's collection? Doesn't seem right..."  
Crowley hesitated from trying to shove the rather large belt buckle into his rather small pocket. There was a small, albeit it teeny tiny, feeling of guilt.  
After all, it wasn't like the belt buckle would fit with his current wardrobe choices, far too large and gaudy, gold was no longer his colour… and humans would certainly notice an early 10th century buckle, it would be hard to miss… did he really need to take it? It wasn't as though the 10th century was coming back anytime soon. And he never caught Morgan wearing any of her old jewellery from then either… he'd gotten by without it all these years hadn't he? Surely, just surely, he could live without it still?  
_“Yeeess, but it's MINE!”_ A slightly more demonic voice hissed in his mind. “ _It's mine and if I want it back, I will take it back!”_  
Crowley snarled to himself and snapped his fingers.  
The buckle was back inside the unbroken display case, reality remaining as normal as it usually was.  
"Whoa. You're actually going to leave it?" Morgan asked, eyeballing him suspiciously. "After using a miracle and forcing me to alter perception?"  
"Yes. Now let's go." Crowley muttered through clenched teeth, turning his back on her.  
"Sure thing." Morgan smiled at his back, leaving her little spell up and around them as they moved on. "You just never stop surprising me, that's all."  
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses at Morgan's tone.  
Keep surprising her? Hah. Just because he put one belt buckle back? Please, just to make himself feel better, the snap of his fingers that had replaced the buckle had also scrambled the name cards of several other exhibits nearby. Let's see them sort that one out anytime soon!  
Surprising her… what a stupidly innocent and naive thing for Morgan to say… wait a minute.  
"You tempted me!" He whirled round and glared accusingly at her. Morgan pulled a face in protest, spreading her hands in the universal gesture of innocence.  
"Who? Me?"  
"Yes, you!"  
"Couldn't be." Morgan sang out, grinning inanely in a way Crowley recognised from his own reflection. He lowered his glasses and fixed her with a yellow eyed stare.  
"You did, didn't you?! _You_ tempted **me**!"  
"Nah. You're imagining things, daddy dearest."  
Crowley growled and ripped his glasses from his face, eyes practically glowing.  
"What did I tell you about calling me that in public?!" He hissed, "And don't tempt me anymore!"  
"Fine!" Morgan pulled a face, throwing her hands up dramatically.  
They stood in annoyed silence opposite each other, yellow and slitted eyes boring into warmer brown eyes.  
How did they end up like this so often, even after so long? Like father like daughter.  
"You know, I don't think I've ever tempted you." Morgan said eventually, Crowley relenting his posture slightly.  
"Yeah. Sounds about right." He muttered.  
And it did sound right.  
Morgan's demonic powers were patchy and erratic. He'd never known her to have the ability to tempt people, had he ever even thought about it? Or had he simply presumed as the subsequent result of being born from his essence, Crowley being the original sin and all, Morgan would be so brilliant at tempting people that he wouldn’t even notice it?  
"I don't actually think I can tempt you." Morgan continued thoughtfully, "I think you just don't like disappointing me."  
Crowley almost choked on his tongue.  
"Nghk?!"  
"Yup. I mean, remember the M25? I threatened to never speak to you again, and you only took, what? 7 years, before you apologised?"  
"8 1/2." Crowley corrected, rolling his eyes with a groan as he realised he'd walked right into that trap. "I hate you."  
"Why? I'm lovely!"  
"You're a bloody nightmare. My own personal nightmare."  
"Nope. You like me, you really like me." Morgan sang annoyingly, "You love me, you really love me."  
"For Satan's sake, please be quiet."  
"Looove me, you loovve me." Morgan grinned, feeling the rising fluster in her fallen angel.  
Crowley was really glad of their silent protection still keeping them hidden. It meant no one could possibly see the awkward twitch of his lips as he fought not to smile[5].  
"No. I hate you."  
"Liar."  
"Demon."  
"Witch."  
"Rude."  
Crowley cackled, suddenly breaking into a manic grin before grabbing her hand and tugging her through the next room as fast as her legs could keep up.  
"You're cruel Crowley." Morgan sighed as they stopped, still safely hidden from other people's view.  
"It shut you up."  
"Damned Snake."  
Once again, Crowley hissed.  
Morgan shook her head and glanced around them.  
"I hate these exhibits. They make it seem like a fantasy adventure. If people today truly knew what life was like then-"  
"Then they'd all be dead."  
Morgan smiled sadly, idly wandering past the exhibit of an old gown.  
"And I should be too. Long dead, a stone column beside an old lake, crumbling from age."  
"Don't. Just, fucking don't." Crowley fidgeted, tempted to reach for her hand and only stopped by his usual hesitation at public affection. “We don’t talk about that.”  
“Should we talk about your almost death then?”  
Morgan’s question took Crowley by surprise, the snake-like nature of it a startling reminder of who had created her. He surprised himself by managing not to let out a shocked hiss.  
“Nghk- w-what?”  
Morgan smiled at him and shook her head sadly.  
“Nothing. Let’s just promise not to fake our deaths anymore, deal?”  
Crowley’s mouth twitched into a half smile before he reached out and took hold of Morgan’s hand. Immediately there was no need for words, an exchange of emotion passing between them. Making it far easier for Crowley to feel apologetic, rather than vocalise it.  
“Deal.” He said, releasing her hand to shove his hands back in his pockets. “This was a shit morning out, wanna go somewhere more fun?”  
“What, like Aplpha Centuri?” Morgan teased as they turned to make their way back to the main stairs.  
“Oh, har har. There are worse places than the stars.” Crowley glanced around as Morgan skipped down the stairs ahead of him. “Like Hell.”  
“Or Purgatory!” Morgan sang out, her words still silenced by her earlier spell.  
Crowley raised an eyebrow in agreement, momentarily distracted as he caught just the edge of a scent he recognised.  
“Oi, witch? You notice anything odd here?” He asked, calling Morgan back to him. She paused, cocking her head.  
Now that Crowley had brought it to her attention, Morgan could feel something niggling away in the back of her brain, not unlike the sensation of being watched.  
It wasn't the typical human gaze, this was something more. Something much more, like another inhuman creature. But Morgan knew the feeling of being watched by a demon, she'd spent 1500 years with Crowley watching her back when he thought she wasn't paying attention. This wasn't a demon.  
"Is that, is it an Angel?"  
"Yeah…" Crowley whipped round, suddenly every sense on high alert. _Please let it be Aziraphale, please let it be Aziraphale._  
When he finally spotted a distant figure in beige, Crowley let out a relieved breath  
"It's Aziraphale."  
“Welp, that’s my cue to leave!” Morgan saluted him cockily. “Go on, go surprise him, have a date!”  
Crowley was too stunned to come up with a snarky reply as Morgan gently pushed him out of her protective spell before sliding down the sweeping stone banister with a whoop[6].  
“Pest.” Crowley muttered, biting the inside of cheek before turning and walking towards the distant figure.  
  
><  
  
Aziraphale had been retracing his steps, certain he had seen Crowley and his unknown companion walk down this very path, yet they had seemingly vanished.  
“Looking for someone Angel?”  
Aziraphale jumped, a very undignified squeak escaping him as he spun to find Crowley leaning against a pillar with a very cocky grin.  
"Crowley! Fancy seeing you here dear boy." Aziraphale rushed out, "It's not like you to peruse history without-"  
"Without you?" Crowley suggested, grin only widening as he pushed off the pillar and fell in beside Aziraphale as they began to stroll. “Normally wouldn’t. But you know, felt like a stroll down memory lane.”  
Aziraphale gave his friend a sideways glance, suspicions roused but Crowley didn’t seem inclined to elaborate further.  
In fact, Crowley was a misstep away from a nervous breakdown, his panic only just held back by his deep affection for the angel next to him. He wasn't sure how long Aziraphale had been around, not with Morgan's cone of silence. What if he'd figured it out? What if he already knew about Morgan? Who could've told him? Heaven didn't know… did they? And if they did, Morgan could be in serious danger. Why hadn't Aziraphale mentioned something earlier if he knew? And why wasn’t he saying anything?!  
“Oh! The Kingdom of Wessex!” Aziraphale tucked his hands behind his back as they strolled.  
Crowley did a double take as they entered the same room he and Morgan had entered only minutes before.  
For _Somebody’s_ sake! Time for a distraction…  
“Tempt you to a spot of lunch?”  
  
  
><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

[1] Immortals tend to be creatures of habit after all. Years of treading the same path would do that to you.

[2] He was loathe to admit it, but over the centuries, Crowley had grown quite accustomed to Morgan's affection. After all they's been through, it felt like a small price he was happy to pay.

[3] Which just happened to be stored safely in Aziraphale's back room, not that he would ever have admitted that.

[4] And for just a moment that made the Angel's breath freeze in his throat, it had looked like a quick and chaste kiss had been pressed to the woman's head.

[5] Another fight that had proven to be useless in the past. As usual, Morgan had the irritating ability to bring out, bless it all, his _better_ side.

[6] Crowley was fairly certain Morgan did things like that when she was hidden from humans merely to test his reactions and make him laugh at seemingly nothing to those around him. Sliding down a banister was a new one though.


	3. God Doesn't Know About Our Sins

*  
  
 _As previously stated, God is not omnipresent, and has been known to take her eye off the globe as it were. Which may go some way as to explain why she did not see who was planning to meddle in affairs they ought not to…_  
*  
  
“Why pink? It’s not even a normal human colour.” Gabriel sniffed, watching with hawk-like intensity[i] as the pink hair flounced away from the museum and through the crowds of humans.  
“She ain’t a normal human.”  
Gabriel wrinkled his nose as a repugnant smell joined him on the roof of the museum. It was like someone had dredged up the bottom of a swamp and then let the resulting slime dry off in front of a garbage fire. A garbage fire in Hell that is, the stink of sulfur crawling over Gabriel’s skin as the smoking demon stepped up beside him.  
“Hastur.”  
“Yeah.” Hastur blew a smoke ring before tucking the dog end of the cigarette behind his ear. “Angel.”  
“ _Arch_ angel.” Gabriel snapped. He was not going to be disrespected by a demon.  
Hastur grunted, annoyed by the Holy aura that was oozing off Gabriel.  
“So, what does Beelzebub have to say about the proposed, _arrangement_?” Gabriel asked, still not turning to look at his unlikely partner in crime.  
“Whut? Arrangement? Oh.” Hastur dug around in his stained coat and pulled out a creased letter. He unfolded it with a loud crinkle and a hacking cough to clear his throat.  
“Lord Beelzebub has agreed to allow Heaven to use the Hellspawn known as Merlin as a method of eliminating the Abomination known as Morgana. On the condition that our Lord Satan is given the Abomination’s soul in payment.” Hastur’s voice was dull and halting, as if not used to reading out loud. “Also, Hell will accept responsibility for hunting down the disgusting Abomination so you fancy lot can keep your feathers white and shiny.”  
“I’m guessing Beelzebub didn’t write that last part?” Gabriel mocked, Hastur scowling and thrusting the letter back into his pocket roughly.  
“If you don’t wanna catch the pain in your angelic ass-“  
“I never said that.” Gabriel finally looked at Hastur, fighting the urge to curl his lip back in disgust. The demon’s black, lifeless eyes were burning into his far more palatable lilac eyes. But perhaps more unsettlingly, the beady eyes of the large frog perched upon Hastur’s head were also peering at Gabriel from under his straw-like blonde wig.  
“Whut?” Hastur demanded, pulling his own face of disgust at the Archangel’s pristinely tailored suit and condescending stare.  
“Your frog, ah- the frog on your-“  
“Whut frog?”  
“Never mind. Hell is willing to capture the Abomination themselves? That is unexpected…” Gabriel mulled it over, trying to find the catch. “How do you intend to capture her? Her father can be, _tricky_. As can her mother.”  
“That traitor won’t be a problem!” Hastur spat automatically, Gabriel raising an eyebrow as he took a step back.  
“And her mother?”  
“Huh, _Her._ No one’s heard her in centuries.”  
“And you’re _sure_ Hell is willing to take the responsibility? It would be unfortunate if Upstairs were to uncover my involvement.” Gabriel steepled his fingers in front of him giving Hastur what he believed to be a kindly, understanding smile[ii].  
“Can’t imagine why.” Hastur said nastily, “We have our own reasons for wanting that bitch gone, that’s all you need to know.”  
“How will I know when you have her?”  
“You’ll know. We done? You’re making my skin itch.” Hastur grumbled, scratching absently under the frog perched on his head.  
Gabriel once more gave the demon a perplexed look. Surely he had to know the frog was there…  
“Right… Well, pleasure doing business with you.”  
“Funny. Didn’t know angels could lie.” Hastur grinned as Gabriel went tight lipped and furiously pale. “Maybe your feathers ain’t so white anymore.”  
“Crawl back into your pit.” Gabriel hissed, Hastur cackling as he drew his dog end from behind his ear and disappearing within a cloud of sulphuric smoke.  
Gabriel ground his teeth together before pulling his phone from his jacket and tapping it furiously.  
Now he knew the Abomination’s time was limited, Gabriel wasn’t about to let the opportunity to threaten her slip past.  
He wanted her to _know_ her end was coming.   
  
X  
  
Morgan barely reacted as Gabriel appeared next to her with a pop, choosing instead to continue staring out over the city as she blew on the steaming mug of tea in her hands.  
"Well, I guess this isn't a sanctioned visit from upstairs then?" She said, lifting the cup to her mouth.  
"You'd be correct."  
"Right. She won't be happy if She finds out."   
"She won't find out. This is personal."  
"Wait," Morgan finally turned with a mocking look of shock, "the Archangel Gabriel actually has a personal involvement here? He's lowered himself to Earth to commune with an Abomination? Why, Gabriel, I'm flattered."  
Gabriel gritted his teeth.   
He hated this, this- **_creature_** -beside him. Her very existence was all wrong and she never failed to rattle him every time he attempted to convince her to finally leave this realm. Even when he resorted to threatening her life, Morgan never seemed to be affected. No creature like her could be _that_ blessed. She was all the worst aspects of her creator mixed with the arrogance of humanity.   
"The fact that you're still here is unacceptable, Abomination." He forced out.  
"Such sweet words." Morgan battered her eyelashes at the increasingly irate Archangel. "And I thought you didn't like me Gabriel."  
"I don't like you."  
"You've been saying that for the last 500 years. Try changing it up once in a while." Morgan continued gleefully with another sip of tea.  
"You being here is wrong. I will be forced to take action." Gabriel tried to stay on track, repeating the usually flawless speech that had scared other abominations[iii].  
"Heard that before too."  
Gabriel exhaled sharply, his thin patience finally snapping.   
"Others have fled just at my mere presence." He snatched that blasted cup from her hand and tossed it off the edge of the balcony in a petty action Michael would've definitely done far earlier.  
A smash and a startled shout came from down below.  
"Well, first of all, rude." Morgan leaned against the railing with an arched eyebrow. "And second, are we done here?"  
"No. We are not done until you've gone back to where you belong."  
"Ah, I do. Your problem is that I can come back."  
"Why won't you leave?! Why are you so different to those who have come before you?! I used to send Abominations running in fear, but you? You refuse to cower to those who are superior!" Gabriel roared, the echo of his voice sending a jet black raven perched on the roof scrambling for height in the sky with an outraged caw.  
But Morgan hadn't flinched during the Archangel's rage, a calm and slightly amused smile on her face.  
"I bow to no man or creature." She said calmly, arms folded in front of her.  
"Then you will be broken." Gabriel hissed, anger causing his usually composed outward appearance to crack. His wings flew out, Morgan raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden swirl of debris, and Gabriel’s lilac eyes shifted and multiplied disarmingly.   
"If you will not fear me, I can think of one that you truly do fear! And **HE** will be hunting for you again. I have made sure of it! You will _break_ Lady le Fay! And I will finally be rid of you!" Gabriel threatened as he lifted up with several powerful beats of his wings. "He will drag you back to Hell with him! And when he does, it will destroy those you care about most!"  
With a triumphant, mad laugh, Gabriel took off and was over the top of the building.  
Morgan stared unseeingly as her hand clenched around the wrought iron railing tightly, her mind now fixed on a far away point of her memory…  


It was dark, dark and well below freezing.   
Every time she shifted her weight, Morgan could hear the deep snow crunching under her feet as her breath escaped in puffs of steam. Not even her winter cloak and fur lined boots could prevent the cold from being felt[iv].  
At least it was quiet, allowing her to hear the approaching enemy.  
"Come now Lady Morgana, you can't hide forever." A low, raspy voice reached her, accompanied by the crunch of more footsteps. "You knew this day would come."  
Morgan held her hand over her mouth and nose to stifle her breathing, heart thumping painfully at the fear of who was stalking her.  
"Are you hoping for your Mother to rescue you? Will she hide you from me and to cheat Death once again? Stop hiding. Just accept your fate, come to me."  
Morgan closed her eyes, trying to centre herself as she reached out a feeler of energy for one of her only allies nearby. He had to be close, she'd only seen him the other day in the city centre…  
 _“Rem… Come on! Rem, I need your help. Like really need your help. I’m cornered. Please! Where are you?!”_  
An answering vibration passed through her, Morgan's eyes snapping open in short lived relief just as the crunching footsteps stopped behind her.  
"Found you." The voice hissed, a claw like hand stretching round the tree.  
"Yes! Well done." Morgan was almost drunk on the adrenaline now racing through her, "You've got me alright! Nothing left for me to do but to throw myself at your feet and beg for mercy. Let me just get a good throwing position here-"  
As Morgan leapt away from the tree, her stalking terror came into view also.  
Dressed in severe black clothing, the collar fastened in a clerical fashion and sleeves that were tightly buttoned at the wrist, the man watching her with burning eyes _could've_ been mistaken for a priest. His long, ragged and greying beard almost hid the cruel curl of his lip as he advanced toward her.  
Gregori Rasputin.  
"You've gotten weak Lady Morgana-"  
"So do I call you Rasputin now? Or, as an old friend, do I have the privilege of calling you by your true name, Merlin?" Mathilda babbled backing up further into the small clearing. "Perhaps I should even follow the Tsarina's example and call you a 'blessing in disguise'? Kinda ironic really, given who you really ar-"  
"Enough!" A crackle of power shot from Rasputin's hands to sizzle the snow just in front of Morgan, water sluicing over her boots. "I have waited hundreds of _years_ to get my hands on you Witch! You will not distract me with your inane words now! It does not matter what you call me, I am your death!"  
"I cannot die." Morgan tried to sound fearless, pretending the tremor in her voice was merely from the cold. "I am immortal."  
"Shall we test that theory?" Rasputin summoned a wickedly sharp dagger from thin air, the blade shining with a rusty red colour that resembled spilt blood. Morgan's blood ran cold as her heel caught a tree root hidden under the snow, causing her to stumble.  
Rasputin took his chance and grabbed at Morgan with long, spidery fingers that closed like a bear trap around her wrist.  
"You spurned me, tortured me, dangled yourself in front of me and laughed when I pursued you. All while being happy to mount anyone of your brother's Knights! All I wanted was for you to give me your attention, to offer some tiny _crumb_ of your power. We could've ruled the world! We could've made the mortals tremble! But you made your choice!" Rasputin snarled, the blade waving dangerously close to Morgan's terrified face as he pulled her closer. "And now I have you back in my grasp, you will submit to me. You will surrender your power to me, even if I have to break every last part of you to get it."  
Rasputin ran his burning eyes hungrily over Morgan's form, knife tip pressing into the thick fabric over her chest.   
"I will claim every inch of you as my own Lady Morgana, and no matter how loud you scream, no matter how hard you pray to your Mother, no one will be able to reach you. You'll be all mine."  
Morgan had forgotten how to breathe, staring in mute horror as if hypnotised as Rasputin cackled.  
"What? No smart answer? No last minute escape my Lady? You truly have gone soft."  
Morgan could feel something pressing down on her energy, feeling like her brain was attempting to squeeze down her spinal column. Her head was spinning, eyes bugging slightly as she desperately tried to think of a way out of her situation. Whatever was pressing down on her, it was sufficient to keep her from drawing her energy to protect herself or cast a spell. Was Merlin dampening her magic somehow?  
Morgan couldn't even detect her Mother's energy or connect with her ally.  
Was this it? Had Merlin finally gotten the chance to end what he'd started over 1400 years ago?  
Then, there was an eerie silence, a sudden absence of noise that spread like velvet over the pair in the clearing.  
A large, glowing blade attached to a chain sliced through the air, not a sound made even as it struck the dagger in Rasputin's hand and sent it tumbling to the ground.  
"What the devil-" Rasputin released Morgan's wrist in shock, Morgan yanking herself backwards. She hit the snow drifts, scooping up a handful of the cold powder and hurling it at him as he started toward her again. Rasputin cursed, lifting his hands to his eyes.   
Morgan felt another presence nearby and scrambled to her feet.  
 _“Go Princess. I'll deal with the Hellspawn. Fly home, now!_  
A deep, rich voice swirled in Morgan's head, Morgan sending a sharp zap of gratitude towards its owner as she freed her wings. They opened with a snap and Rasputin howled as Morgan leapt into the air surrounded by a green corona.  
"No! You cannot escape me again! I've waited too long!" Rasputin dove forward, electric sparks crackling around his fingertips as he stretched out for her.  
Morgan's wings beat strongly, easily lifted her up into the starry sky.  
"And you'll keep waiting!" She yelled as her wings carried swiftly across the tops of the trees and through the night, almost faint with the relief of having narrowly escaped death once more.  


Morgan snapped back to the present with gasp, a constant tapping against her fingers becoming too persistent to ignore.  
"What?!" She snapped, causing the returned raven to caw indignantly once more as it hopped away from her.  
"Oh, sure. Everybody just yell at the bird. I'm sure it won't mind. Not like I have feelings or anything."   
Morgan sighed, finally releasing the railing and stretching her fingers out to the raven in apology.  
"I'm sorry Matthew, I just-"  
"Yeah, yeah. Archangel threatening you, I get it. Who's he sending after you?"  
"Merlin." Morgan whispered, fingers stroking Matthews glossy feathers for comfort as that cold fear edged back into her mind.  
"Oh." Matthew ruffled his feathers and snapped his beak a few times before fixing her with a beady stare. "That's bad. What are you going to do?"  
"Well, I thought I'd scream for a solid five minutes first, and then find some nice distant bar to hide in and drown myself in any and all the available alcohol[v]. How does that sound?" Morgan grinned manically, her smile almost a terror fuelled grimace.  
“Right…” Matthew shuffled on the railing, doing his best impression of an awkward sidle.  
“Haiti is nice this time of the year,” Morgan continued, her words fuelled by blind fear, “though I did technically get banned after that revolution incident… Eh. Pretty sure they’ll have gotten over that by now. After all, just how long can humans hold a grudge for?”  
“You don’t have to be psychic to know where this ends up.” Matthew muttered.  
“It ends up with me face down and blissfully unaware in a sea of alcohol while ignoring the fact that I have a mad archangel and motherfucking crazy hellspawn hell bent on my death. That’s how this ends.”  


><><><><><><><><><><><><><

[i] He’d worried he might have been discovered earlier if not for the bumbling fool Aziraphale coming along and catching the attention of Morgana and Crowley instead.

[ii] Hastur just thought it made the pompous angel look constipated.

[iii]Gabriel had originally been the soldier to lead charges against the infernal Nephilim in the name of Heaven. Morgana was not a Nephilim, almost undetectable to Heaven's eyes due to her lack of Angel's blood, but Gabriel could still feel the old urge to slay her where she stood.

[iv] The last time she'd felt this sort of cold was back in the 1800's. Only back then it was Crowley who'd been in danger, not Morgan.

[v] A decision Crowley would've approved of.


	4. In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong

Crowley sauntered through the front door, tossing his jacket onto the coat stand perfectly.  
"Make yourself comfortable Angel."  
Aziraphale followed him, his expression unusually unreadable.  
Despite having continued to act as though nothing was wrong, the angel was still puzzling over the existence of the young woman he’d seen Crowley with the other day. It had been scratching away at the back of his mind like a trapped mouse. For three days!  
It was beginning to drive him batty!  
Didn’t Crowley trust him?  
Oh. Or was it worse than that? Did Crowley think he **_couldn’t_** be trusted?  
Aziraphale wasn’t sure which would be truly worse; both were options he simply couldn’t bear.  
He wasn’t even sure what he could have possibly done to ruin Crowley’s trust in him! Alright, there was all that business with young Adam and the end of the world, but that was justifiable! Hadn’t he always done his best to remain loyal to the damned demon, even with Heaven’s damn bureaucracy breathing down his neck?!  
What on Earth was so special about whoever that young woman was, that Crowley couldn’t even trust _him_ to talk to?  
Should he perhaps just ask Crowley who she was? People often did that… No. No, that would probably go down as well as a lead balloon[i].  
So what was an ever-increasingly curious Angel to do?  
Was he just supposed to wait until Crowley **_chose_** to mention it to him?  
That could take Millennia!  
And how could Crowley keep this from him anyway?!  
Surely, **_surely_** , he wasn't going to carry on as if he didn’t have this massive secret between them. After 6000 years and an Apocalypse-that-Didn't, you'd think there was nothing left to hide from each other-  
Aziraphale became aware of Crowley’s voice speaking to him once more.  
"I asked if you fancied a night cap. Vintage 1792." Crowley was waving a set of glasses and a full whiskey decanter enticingly.  
"Of course dear boy, always." Aziraphale forced himself to act far more relaxed than he felt, sitting on the surprisingly soft leather couch.  
Crowley frowned slightly as he poured generous amounts of the aged whiskey into the glasses. Something was off.  
He knew his Angel, could feel the- the, **wrongness** filling the space between them. What was he hiding now? Weren't they passed all this?!  
A small sting of hurt twanged under his ribs and Crowley was glad of his glasses still in place as he began swaying towards the couch and the waiting Aziraphale, when suddenly he felt it.  
A sensation of Time stuttering, Reality fighting against resistance… Only an occult being could create that feeling; that feeling like the entire universe had compressed and expanded in the space between breaths[ii].  
Aziraphale gave a soft gasp, surprised by his ears suddenly popping as reality warped and snapped with a twang.  
A young woman appeared on the coffee table, pink hair curly and wild around a grinning face, wilting flowers tucked in a wreath around her head. She was wearing a dark crop top covered in fern patterns, a pair of black shorts doing little to hide her legs. She pulled a face, stumbling slightly before tilting backwards with widening eyes.  
"Whoohoo-ooof!"  
Aziraphale leapt to his feet, alarmed as the woman hit the floor with a muffled giggle, her strappy, platform high heels sticking up in the air.  
" 'M good! 'M totally- totally fine!" A small hand waved reassuringly, followed by another giggle and a series of grunts as the woman climbed unsteadily to her feet. " 'M ok!"  
"Wha- Who? Crowley?" Aziraphale gave the frozen Crowley[iii] an exasperated expression. "You, you useless serpent!"  
"Serpent!" The young woman swayed unsteadily, pointing a wild finger at Aziraphale as she blinked rapidly, trying to focus. "Need th' serpent. Does the 'Sssss' thing. Wait." She narrowed her eyes, taking a stumbling step forward. "You're not the- not the occult being I'm looking for. Too… short, too-" her hands made an odd waving in the air as her eyes finally found Crowley.  
"Hey! There you are! Did, did you know tha' you have two heads?"  
She giggled again before suddenly grimacing and pressing a hand to her slightly exposed stomach. "Uuh. Shouldn't teleport while drunk… or on an empty stomach." She blew out a breath, concentrating on getting her feet under control and tripping past Crowley to the cabinets.  
"What are you doing here?!" Crowley finally broke from his stupor, drawing the woman's attention.  
"Ah! Perfect!" She swung herself over and plucked the glass from his grasp.  
"Do you really need that?" Crowley drawled in annoyance, looking down his nose at her.  
" 'M nowhere **NEAR** drunk enough. Still too sober."  
"This is sober?"  
"Nope! This is moderately functional!" The woman downed the entire glass easily.  
"It's 300-year old whiskey, you sod." Crowley muttered, clearly annoyed by her lack of taste savouring.  
"I know. I gave it to you."  
Aziraphale was stunned.  
Actually, stunned didn't cover it. This was the same woman who had been in the park and at the museum with Crowley. Forget the fact that she had appeared from nothing, a power that was unusual even in the ethereal realms, who in Heaven’s name was she?! Or _what_ was she?!  
The woman glanced across at Aziraphale and let out a giggle, pointing at Crowley with her stolen glass.  
"You kept me a secret for 1500 years! And now- and now! Now he knows!" Her face dropped suddenly. "Your angel, he's gonna find everything out!"  
Aziraphale startled.  
 _"Your angel"?_  
She knew about him? But, that would have to mean that, that Crowley had talked about him with her…  
Crowley suddenly froze, almost as if finally realising Aziraphale was staring between him and the woman examining the empty glass.  
Shit.  
Not good.  
"Oh, this is ridiculous." Aziraphale muttered, fighting the rising irritation. "Without wanting to be rude, who is this surprise house guest Crowley?"  
The woman focused drunkenly on Aziraphale with a frown as Crowley struggled to remember how to form words. She could feel the hurt and bewilderment radiating from Aziraphale, not to mention the anger.  
She nudged the recumbent Crowley, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Crowley swallowed and nodded hesitantly, looking everywhere but the glowering angel.  
"Ngh, ah, right. Angel, this is Morgan. She knows about you- me, us… I mean."  
"Tha's right! The garden, the snake, the swordy-wordy with the flames and the pointy end- Pointy end! Fighting! I think, I think I started a fight. Again." Morgan slumped back against Crowley with a morose expression.  
"Yeah, I'm not following you. Should probably sober up." Crowley suggested as Morgan turned to grab the bottle of whiskey.  
"Clearly, a good idea. First sensible one I've heard." Aziraphale snipped, feeling oddly isolated and hurt by the casualness of Crowley's actions as he gripped the back of the woman’s shorts, effectively keeping her from reaching the alcohol.  
"Right, right. S'pose so." Morgan sniffed, reaching back and supporting herself by holding onto Crowley. "Hold on."  
Morgan twitched, doubling over slightly with a gentle heave and a groan.  
"Oh! No! No, no, no!" Crowley complained as across the room, the new plant mister slowly filled with a dark liquid he could only hope was alcohol.  
"Only empty vessel. I could just stay drunk if you like." Morgan muttered, straightening. "Urgh. Voodoo rum. There's nothing like it, going in or out."  
"You were back in Haiti?" Crowley arched an eyebrow. “Thought you were banned?”  
"Yup, was and still am. Great party though... I think. Ooh, still slightly drunk." Morgan exhaled and leaned against the nearby cabinet. "Great rum though...Rum, run, running... Running! Ooh! Running, and avoiding! I had to tell you!"  
"Tell me _what_?"  
"Someone, gah! Brain! Work with me here!" Morgan slapped her forehead several times in agitation. "Ah! No! Ah ha! He's back!"  
"Who??" Crowley gestured wildly as Aziraphale looked on in obvious bewilderment.  
"Wizard, long beard, but not as long now- He found me again, bastard."  
"Wizard? They don't exist dear." Aziraphale tried to smile reassuringly. "Surely you know that?"  
"Look at Mr Clever Angel over there. Wizards don't exist, I know that! He's Hellspawn, isn't he?!" Morgan snapped, rolling her eyes viciously. "I need to be drunk for this."  
"Oi." Crowley grabbed the back of her shirt this time as she moved for the bottle again. "I don't think so."  
"Look. This is no time to be sober! He's back, stalking me, and that's bad. Very bad. It's been a century and he's back. You weren't there last time! Well, not while HE was hunting me."  
"Oh." Crowley started, feeling a growing sense of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. "Oh. **Him**?"  
 _"WHO?"_ Aziraphale was tempted to start pulling at his own hair and slapping his own head out of frustration.  
"Merlin!" Both demon and woman shouted the answer in response.  
Aziraphale let out a laugh, the sound dying into silence as it was met with stony glares.  
"Oh, come on! Merlin?! He was on my side- I mean to say, Heaven's side. Why would he be here now?"  
Crowley glared at the angel, dread snapping to panicked anger in a single blink of his eye.  
"O-kay! You, sit down!" He pushed the drunken woman down onto the sofa and pointed a long finger threateningly at Aziraphale. "You, outside! Now!"  
"Wh-what?!" Aziraphale spluttered, unable to help leaning away slightly as Crowley grabbed his jacket and hauled him across the room towards the door.  
"I said out! Come on! Leave!" Crowley almost roared in his panicked state, hastily pushing Aziraphale.  
"Too-da-loo Angel!" Morgan called from her place on the sofa, waving with a blissful smile. Crowley actually snarled, throwing the door open and bundling the shocked angel out of the apartment.  
"I- Just- Gah! I'll call you! Later. Sorry!"  
Aziraphale was left staring at a slammed door, wide eyes blinking owlishly as he tried to understand what in Heaven's name had just happened.  
Reaching out, he tried the door handle out of instinct.  
"Of course." He muttered when the door handle refused to budge, hurt radiating through him. "Fine. Be that way. I'm not the one keeping secrets and having mystery women show up in my life."  
With an annoyed huff, he straightened his jacket and scowled at the rumpled fabric where Crowley had bunched it up.   
"Fine." He repeated, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he frowned and stomped off down the hallway.  
  
Crowley sagged against the door, sighing heavily. He hated everything.  
"That went well." Morgan commented unhelpfully from where she had swiped the whiskey and was now drinking straight from the bottle.  
Crowley straightened and strode over.  
"Yup." Crowley snatched the bottle back, Morgan pouting.  
"Boo. Give it!" She tried to stand and grab the bottle back, but her own feet got in the way, high heels not helping her precarious balance, and she stumbled against Crowley.  
Rolling his eyes, Crowley held her up as she pawed at his front to find balance.  
" 'S'ok. 'M fine. What 'm doin here?" She asked, frowning as she brushed her hair back out of her face.  
"You tell me. You showed up outta nowhere." Crowley sighed, keeping the bottle out of Morgan's clumsy grasp.  
"Oh! Running! I was running!" The woman exploded, pushing away from Crowley and waving her arms wildly. "Running away… what from?"  
"Merlin?" Crowley supplied, taking a glum swig from the bottle himself.  
Morgan visibly deflated, her arms dropping to her sides with a smack.  
"Oh. Yeah. Him." Morgan swayed slightly, eyes bleary and looking older than before, "I need to sleep this off. 'M gonna crash."  
"Sure." Crowley grabbed her shoulders, turning her round and propelling her towards the inner rooms of the sleek apartment. "Forwards, bed."  
" 'K. C'mon feet, forward."  
"And no bloody stopping to talk to my plants!" Crowley yelled after her, Morgan waving a hand absently in return.  
"Your ficus is traumatised!" She called.  
"Good. Better be." Crowley muttered as he sank bonelessly onto the couch, cradling the bottle now containing the last of his good whiskey while staring blankly at the wall, his mind swirling chaotically.  
Merlin... Why now? After the world had already almost been destroyed, **NOW** he shows up? No rest for the wicked then.  
Taking another miserable swig, Crowley groaned.  
And Merlin was back to torment Morgan. That fucking Hellspawn had never learned how to lose, still pissed that she had spurned his advantages and beaten his powers. So now, apparently, it was his mission to make Morgan suffer. Bastard.  
Crowley gritted his teeth and tossed the bottle at the wall in a fit of sudden anger. The crash and shatter echoed in the room. He stared at the amber droplets running down the wall to form puddles on the floor.  
Merlin was NOT going to hurt Morgan again on his watch, not now and not ever.  
Waving a hand to miracle away the broken glass and alcohol[iv], Crowley sobered as he stood and headed slowly in the same direction Morgan had traipsed just minutes ago.  
As he walked, Crowley realised something.  
He couldn't sense Morgan any more. There was nothing to tell him she was still in the apartment.  
Just a sudden sense of emptiness –  
No… Just a sense of silence that hadn't been there moments ago…  
Morgan must have passed out.  
Alarmed, Crowley quickened.  
It was unusual for Morgan to physically pass out from alcohol, she had the same constitution for alcohol as he did for Sa- Somebody's sake! She could magic alcohol out of her system!  
He took an unnecessary breath out of habit before pushing the slate grey door of the bedroom open.  
The tense line of his shoulders almost relaxed visibly as the scene that greeted him, Crowley just managing to catch his traitorously soft smile at the sight in the dimly lit bedroom.  
Morgan's pink hair was shockingly bright against dark sheets, her mouth hanging open slightly as she snored. Her legs were dangling off the bed, feet just brushing floor, one high heel lying lonesome to the side, the other still half on her foot with the straps undone.  
A very adorable, drunken scene.  
Crowley sighed and walked over, crouching to tug Morgan's remaining shoe off and tossing it to the side. Morgan groaned in her sleep, kicking out slightly.  
"Bloody witch." Crowley muttered, ignoring her sleepy protests to shift her further onto the bed.  
"Sssnake."  
A small hand grasped blindly, catching the edge of his fingers.  
"Ssstay."  
"Do you hiss jussst to annoy me?" Crowley asked, curling his fingers with hers regardless.  
"Want my sssnake."  
Crowley huffed and sat next to her. Morgan immediately rolled and flung herself over him in a flurry of limbs before snuggling her face into him. Crowley pulled a face as a large, wilting flower narrowly missed smacking him in the jaw[v].  
" 'cared Crowley. Don't want him to find me." Morgan said quietly, fear lacing her energy.  
Crowley clenched his jaw and rested his arms around her.  
"I know."  
"He almost got me last time. I never told you, but he got close to killing me. I don't know if I'd survive again."  
Tightening his grip on Morgan as he felt her fear spike, Crowley bit his tongue so he couldn't yell. No, Morgan hadn't bloody told him that! How bad had it been? How had she done it? Maybe they could do it again…  
"It was Nephilim. You know Remmie? He organised a group to help save me. They destroyed his form, tossed him in the river…" Morgan wriggled closer, voice still soft with sleep.  
"So we do it again."  
Morgan didn't reply, just gripped his shirt tighter.  
Crowley realised she really was terrified. There was nothing for it. With a resigned sigh, he cracked his neck and let his physical form warp and shift until a giant snake was piled comfortingly around Morgan. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and cuddled him tightly.  
Crowley could still feel her fear, except now it had eased slightly, edged with affection. He curled closer, winding around her shoulders to rest his head atop Morgan's with a lazy flicker of his tongue.  
Morgan was close to drunk, sleepy tears, feeling secure in her father's coils. There were very few times she could count that Crowley had so blatantly offered comfort to her. And maybe it was just her rum soaked brain talking, but she was extremely grateful for the Apocalypse-That-Didn't since it seemed to have taken some of Crowley's hang ups away. Or maybe it was the influence of a particular angel-  
"Wait! Aziraphale!" Morgan shot back up, head spinning slightly and Crowley hissing in annoyance at being displaced.  
 _What about him?_  
"You kicked him out! He's going to be suspicious!"  
Crowley wasn't going to tell her that they’d already caught Aziraphale trailing them at the museum. She’d remember once she was fully sober.  
 _I’ll deal with it. Sleep sweet girl. You're drunk._  
"You're drunk." Morgan replied petulantly, falling back gracelessly. "You sleep."  
 _Will if you do._  
"Deal." Morgan's eyes were already closed, Crowley's weight gathered in her arms once more.  
 _That's my girl._ Crowley slithered back up to briefly press his snout against her nose before settling against her. _I'll think of something. I won't let him get you_  
Morgan shifted slightly, body sinking into the bed with a sleepy huff.  
 _I'll think of something. Promise._

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

[i] A handy phrase of Crowley’s that Aziraphale had become rather fond of using. When Crowley wasn’t listening of course.

[ii] A sensation similar to that moment in the middle of the night when you miss a stair in the dark, that second of falling seeming to stretch into eternity all while still occurring too fast for you to react. Until your foot finally lands and your heart takes up a new residence in your throat.

[iii] Crowley was used to random and unannounced visits from Morgan. But never with company, and certainly never around Aziraphale. That was the one rule between them!

[iv] The very old and decadent whiskey reappearing in the cabinet in a still sealed bottle. Crowley wasn't one to waste the finer things in life after all.

[v] This is why Crowley didn't give out affection too often. But Morgan needed it, he could sense that. And just like with Aziraphale, Crowley was pretty useless at refusing his daughter... Even if it did result in dying vegetation being thrown around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe in the current weird time we are living in.  
> Silver lining time, it's given me plenty of time to write and get stories finished! So yay... I guess.  
> Seriously though, keep yourselves and you family safe and healthy, be kind to one another, and try to remember that this won't last forever xx


	5. An Accidental Demon Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... I'm not even going to try and blame the global pandemic (though I hope everyone is staying safe and staying sane!)... I just suck at updating.  
> I should be posting more often now. I've managed to finish a few chapters and I actually want to write at the moment, so fingers crossed!  
> Enjoy!

Chapter 5 – An Accidental Demon Child

*  
_Many believe demons to be disgusting, despairing creatures, creatures that represented all the worst of Humanity's darker desires, creatures that were the manifestation of all negative emotions. They are also believed to only be capable of hurting.  
This is wrong in Crowley's case.  
Despite his normal emotional state being of someone under 13 different types of stress, Crowley was actually capable of other, more unusual mental states for a demon.  
For example, his ability to imagine, his curiosity over human technology, his care for the smaller humans, his ability to love (though, this was sadly neglected,often ignored or misinterpreted as nausea), his concern and desire to protect Morgan… and in his unexpected role as Morgan's reluctant father, Crowley found himself caring. Caring very much over what might happen to her next. Caring enough to finally, and truthfully, reveal her existence to a particular Angel._  
*  
  
Morgan groaned, holding her head as she stumbled down the hallway and narrowly avoided walking into the very solid, stone wall.  
"So you're not dead then."  
Morgan scowled as she looked up, squinting against the bright light pouring through the windows. It highlighted Crowley from behind, surrounding him with an almost angelic aura[1]. She watched as he lifted an arm and lazily misted a plant.  
"I'm still thinking about it." Morgan muttered, shielding her eyes as a stab of pain sliced through her head.  
"You're not gonna hurl on the plants are you?"  
"No." Morgan dropped her hand. "Shit, I must have been absolutely-"  
"Plastered? Yeah. Voodoo rum will do that to you." Crowley finished with his plants, turning to Morgan and wrinkling his nose. "You look awful."  
Morgan hissed as he squirted her with the plant mister in lieu of a shower.  
"Sod off daddy dearest and tell me you have actual coffee somewhere."  
"Clean yourself up. I'll go see what I can find." Crowley idly misted a few more plants before freezing. "Uh oh. I spy with my little eye, a withered leaf. Oh dear, oh dear..."  
"It is too early to watch this." Morgan muttered, cradling her head in her hands as Crowley worked himself up to a plant terrifying rant.  
"I've told all of you this hundreds of times," Crowley picked up the small plant and held it up for the room to see. "I do NOT accept withered leaves. And now? Now, your little friend here is going to take a little trip, and you're never going to see them again. Say goodbye, and remember, I expect you to grow _better!_ ”  
"You're such a drama queen." Morgan rolled her eyes, instantly regretting it as a throbbing pain ran through her head.  
Crowley didn't answer, still sauntering away with the less-than-ideal plant. She followed slowly, stopping to run a few fingers along the trembling leaves of the traumatized ficus and willed some calm into it before heading to the kitchen.  
"I told you to clean up." Crowley didn't even look up from his task of clipping the few dead leaves from the sacrificial plant and pouring water into its dry soil.  
"It's not _that_ bad- oh, urgh. Should teeth feel fuzzy?" Morgan pulled a face. "And why is there a wilted bush in my hair? Yeah, this won’t do."  
With a quick flick of her fingers, Morgan was briefly encased in green light before revealing a change of clothes.  
In place of the shorts, crop top and heels, she was now wearing torn black jeans, grey top under an open maroon plaid shirt and leather jacket, solid black boots on her feet and her pink hair scraped back into a messy bun that exposed darker roots near her scalp. A simpler silver chain around her neck appeared with a secondary flash of green. Within the space of 30 seconds, Morgan looked to be fresher and brighter.  
"Alright, so you _may_ have had a point. Want me to-" she indicated to the switch by the gleaming sink and Crowley nodded. Morgan flicked the switch with an anticipatory wince as the disposal roared into life.  
Morgan went and sat at the kitchen island, rubbing her temples as she watched Crowley place the plant in front of her before he picked an empty pot out from the stack hidden under the sink to place in the other room.  
"Do your thing kid."  
Morgan took in the small plant, summoning her own tired energy and blew a light breath over the leaves. The plant swelled under her attention, glowing before a few new leaves unfurled at the centre.  
"There you go poppet." Morgan whispered as Crowley returned and busied himself by fiddling with a ridiculously complicated looking machine that eventually began to hum and hiss before the heavenly smell of freshly brewed coffee began to fill the sleek kitchen[2].  
Crowley came back and picked up the plant pot, giving the now verdant leaves an appraising look as he placed a cup of strong coffee in front of Morgan.  
"Thank mother!" Morgan sighed as she took a content sip of the dark liquid, ignoring Crowley's returning hiss.  
With the strong coffee in her hands and her refreshed self, Morgan could already feel the last of the rum wearing off, her thoughts becoming clearer, and her current predicament becoming much bleaker without the rosy glow of alcohol.  
"Shit. What am I going to do Crowley?" She asked, Crowley pausing in his movements.  
"We are going-" he grimaced slightly, taking a mouthful of his own black coffee before continuing "-no, _I’m_ going to the park. You’re going to wait here where it’s safe. That's what’s going to happen."  
Morgan's eyes narrowed.  
"I’m being stalked by a vengeful wizard who wants to wipe me from the face of this existence, and **you're** going to go to the _park_ while I hide?"  
"Look, if you're gonna die you might as well try to hide from it first, right?" Crowley, one of nature’s true survivors, shrugged with a feigned casualness[3].  
"Uh huh." Morgan drained the last of her coffee all while being aware of Crowley's tempting tells as he clenched his jaw while swaying slightly from side to side, uncovered eyes fixed on her, the yellow colour bright and unblinking.  
"Fine. I suppose it’s not the worst thing to do while I wait for my brain up to think of a plan." Morgan sighed, acquiescing to Crowley's plan, whatever it was. It wasn’t like she had that many choices really.  
  
X  
  
Aziraphale wriggled slightly on the bench, trying his hardest not to sigh.  
Why in Heaven's name had he agreed to this?  
After Crowley's exceedingly rude behaviour the night before, not to mention the general secrecy around that young woman - what was her name? Morgan! All that secrecy had definitely been testing his patience lately.  
What was it Crowley had said on the telephone again?  
_"Look, look, I know I owe you a thing, an explanation. But see, gah. The thing is, it's a lot more awkward than it looked!"  
"More awkward than it looked?! Crowley, a scantily clad young woman dropped into your apartment! And you were hardly fazed!"  
"Weeelll, it's not the first time she's done that. Actually, she's normally sober when she does it, but that's not the-"  
"She's done it **before**?!"  
"Look! Just, just meet me tomorrow at the park alright? The usual seat."  
"Well, I don't know. I may be busy-"  
"Listen you silly bug- Angel! Give me a chance to explain this! Tomorrow, St James, usual bench, alright?"_  
So, even with his mounting reservations, here Aziraphale was. Waiting.  
A few of the older ducks of St James waddled over expectantly, well attuned to their lifestyle and knowing exactly who was likely to feed them… but not today.  
Aziraphale startled, nearly jumping out of his skin[4] when a glossy black raven landed on the back of the bench beside him.  
"What in God's Earth- Shoo, go on." Aziraphale waved a limp hand at the large bird, which clacked its beak and simply fixed him with one glittering eye.  
"Hm. Corvus corax, the common raven." Aziraphale muttered to himself, "Have you come from the Tower?"  
"I doubt it angel. Does it look like a mangy scavenger?" Crowley sauntered up, glaring at the offending creature before giving Aziraphale a cursory nod. "Glad to see you came. Wasn't sure if you would after-"  
"You forcefully ejected me last night? Yes, I wasn't sure either."  
"Right. Right, uh." Crowley gestured at the bench. "Can, can I-?"  
Aziraphale nodded, slightly surprised by Crowley's lack of aggressive confidence. Whatever had been changed by Morgan arriving, it seemed to be something Crowley was uncomfortable with.  
"Look-" Crowley slouched down, limbs sliding into their usual boneless posture, "Last night, Morgan, well she's dealing with a few things and needed my help."  
"Your help? Right. Because that explains everything." Aziraphale was unable to help the snappish nature of his reply, almost certain that the raven still perched between them suddenly cackled in an insulting way.  
Crowley rolled his head back with an aggravated groan, baring his teeth at the raven when it hopped closer.  
"What do you want from me Angel?! I'm trying to explain here!"  
"You're doing a terrible job then!"  
"So tell me what you want to know!"  
"Who is Morgan? Why is she here? HOW did she get here? Who is she?!" The answers burst out of Aziraphale in rapid succession, Crowley going very still.  
"I have to answer all of those? In that order?"  
Aziraphale was beginning to contemplate wringing the Demon's neck out of sheer frustration when Crowley suddenly leapt to his feet and made a valiant attempt to shove his hands into the pockets of his tight jeans.  
“How about I drive you back to the shop angel?”  
“Coward.”  
Aziraphale blinked in confusion, looking around to try and locate the person who had spoken in such low, gravelly tones, when Crowley turned to snarl at the raven now preening itself with an insulting air of innocence.  
“What did that pesst sssay to me?” Crowley hissed, forgetting to hide his natural hiss.  
“Dear boy, _please_! You’re talking to a _raven_! The humans will notice that!”  
“Alright! But before anyone says another word; another _blessed_ word **crow** ,” Crowley glared pointedly at the raven from behind his dark glasses. “We are getting in the car and going to Soho. Now.”  
Aziraphale was still incredibly confused as he stood, wondering why Crowley had apparently lost his mind and was currently threatening a raven, when the raven in question hopped along the bench and flapped its wings a few times before staring straight at Crowley[5].  
“Wannabe goth.”  
“That’s it! I’m going to stuff you with your own feathers you- you- you second-rate messenger bird!”  
“Oh, real clever ignoramus.” The raven clacked its beak and took off with a mocking caw just as Crowley lunged forward. Crowley collided painfully with the bench, sliding into a boneless slumped position with a scowl.  
Aziraphale froze, staring between his scowling friend and the dark speck that was the raven in the sky.  
“Tha- _ahem_ \- that raven talked.” Aziraphale said lamely, aware that this wasn’t the wittiest remark in the face of what had happened. “Oh dear, would you like- here.”  
“Yeah, great, thanks.” Crowley muttered as he took Aziraphale’s proffered hand and climbed back to his feet. “It’s getting the damn bird to shut up that’s the bloody problem. Calling me an ignoramus…”  
Pulling a face, Crowley dusted himself off indignantly before turning to Aziraphale once more.  
“Right. Back to the shop?”  
Bemusedly, and still wondering what in God’s name had just occurred, Aziraphale nodded.

However, it wasn’t until he was sitting in the Bentley’s passenger side seat as Crowley tore through the streets that Aziraphale remembered the purpose of his meeting with Crowley.  
“Oh! You _tricked_ me!” He lamented loudly causing Crowley to jump and jerk hard on the steering wheel[6].  
“ _What?!_ ”  
“You tricked me! You still haven’t told me anything about Morgan! You avoided answering any of my questions with that devious raven trickery!”  
Crowley stared at Aziraphale with an open mouth, mouthing silent words slightly as he tried to form a coherent answer. Aziraphale stared back indignantly until he became aware that neither of them were looking at the road.  
“Ah, Crowley? The ro- there’s lights, the lights- _For Heaven’s sake, BRAKE!_ ”  
Crowley reactively slammed a foot down, the Bentley’s wheels squealing and Aziraphale sliding forward in his seat slightly as he rested a hand over his heart.  
“Ghnrk- ah, thank y-“  
“Avoiding your questions?! Look, I’ve done plenty of stupid things, but I am _not_ avoiding your bloody ques-“  
“I’ve seen the two of you together before you know!” Aziraphale blurted out. “A few days ago, at the British Museum. Now, what are you hiding from me Crowley?!”  
Crowley sagged and turned back to stare out of the windshield, tapping the steering wheel as an irritated road user behind them honked their horn angrily. Crowley made a dark sound in the back of his throat and flourished his fingers. The honking horn died with a strangled noise.  
“Ok, ok. Angels can be so damned pushy.” Crowley sighed and the Bentley began to move once more. “Morgan- Morgan is- she’s, she’s my daughter. Technically. I, sort of, _created_ , her.”  
“ _WHAT?!”_  
“ ** _Alright!_** Just, keep it down! It’s fine, totally fine. She’s good- well, sort of good. Mostly she’s just a pain in my ass-“  
“How?”  
“Hm? What?” Crowley glanced across at the strangely still Aziraphale.  
“How did you _‘sort of’_ create her?” Aziraphale’s voice was dangerously low and totally controlled, his jaw taut.  
Crowley winced. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve prepared; low and calm, or loud and angry. He decided to try and slither his way out of trouble with his usual casualness.  
“Oh, y’know, the usual demonic way… not the other messy, human way. She’s not a Nephilim, don’t worry about that.”  
Aziraphale suddenly let out a slightly hysterical laugh, turning to fix Crowley with a manic grin.  
“Oh! Oh, how wonderful! She’s _not_ a deranged demon-human hybrid! Wonderful! I suppose I’ll just stopping worrying now! **How** was she created?”  
Crowley swallowed hard, choking on his answer as the guilt of that knowledge swirled in his stomach.  
“transmutation.”  
“ ** _TRANS-_** _transmutation?!_ ” Aziraphale remembered not to start yelling, biting down on his knuckles with a low hiss of breath before carrying on. “What in _Heaven’s_ name were you _thinking_ Crowley?! I mean, I know you’re a demon and it was your job to tempt humans for Hell, but this? _This?!_ ”  
“You said it yourself, I’m a demon. I certainly wasn’t thinking about what Heaven wanted.” Crowley snapped back, fingers still tapping the wheel in agitation. He’d always known Aziraphale wouldn’t take Morgan’s existence well, even if he hadn’t personally been involved in her creation. What Crowley had done, working to bring a human back from the dead using his own Hellish energy and Fallen Divinity… well, it was bad. Bad enough for both Heaven _and_ Hell to condemn it. If there was ever a way for him to Fall again, Crowley was pretty certain Aziraphale may be tempted to push him over the edge in this moment[7].  
“You knowingly condemned an innocent human woman to an eternity of damnation! How could you not think?! When did this even happen?!” Aziraphale was furious, practically vibrating in place as he tried to contain it.  
“Why? Would it really make it any worse if she was only 100 years old versus 1000? If she’s had longer to get used to the pain, does that make it better eh?”  
“You’re avoiding my questions again!”  
Crowley snarled, a vicious and animal sound, smacking the Bentley’s horn so forcefully that several parked cars all sounded their own horns in response as the Bentley roared past.  
“You really wanna know angel? Fine! 511 AD. And you know who she was? Morgan is _the_ Lady Morgana LeFay. How about that huh? Does that make you feel better about my little crime? Does that make it alright? _Does it?!_ ”  
Aziraphale just gaped at Crowley, stunned mostly by the fury of the words spat at him and only slightly stunned by the knowledge that Crowley had effectively immortalised one of the most notorious witches of history. His mind whirred frantically as he sought for any sort of answer that wouldn’t make the situation worse.  
“Is that what you think of m- how could it ever be _alright_?” Aziraphale shifted slightly, still thinking. “That long? No, no. It doesn’t matter how long or even who she was as a human. You made her into an _Abomination_! Just the act alone goes against everything either of us have ever known- argh!” Aziraphale flung an arm out to brace himself against the dashboard as Crowley slammed his foot on the brakes once more.  
“Get out.”  
“Wh-what?” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley in confusion, the demon stock still and staring down at the steering wheel.  
“Get out! We’re here!” Crowley snapped his teeth suddenly, glasses glinting dangerously as he twisted to glare at the angel.  
Aziraphale glanced out of the window and realised Crowley was indeed right. They were already at the crossroads where his bookshop sat.  
“Oh.”  
“Yup.”  
Aziraphale fidgeted with his fingers.  
“Are- I mean, would you _like_ to come in?”  
“Depends.”  
“I still have a bottle of that rather delicious Château Mouton Rothschild. 1945 I believe…” Aziraphale let his invitation dangle, not wanting to have Crowley hate him after this exchange. And wine was such a useful bribe.  
For a few moments, Aziraphale waited in tense silence before Crowley relinquished his grip on the steering wheel (a white knuckled grip Aziraphale noted) and slumped back in his seat, the closest thing Aziraphale was going to get to an outright acceptance in the circumstances.  
“Excellent. Come on then, lets- ah, yes. Yes.” Aziraphale rushed from the car, almost attempting to outrun the heated exchange that had taken place in it.  
While he still wasn’t entirely ready to accept that Crowley would do something so appallingly terrible[8] as transmute a human, Aziraphale was also aware that he had, briefly, met the physical proof of Crowley’s actions. So there was no reason or way to doubt his words. After all, to lie about transmutation would be ridiculous! If you’ve already committed the worst crime possible, lying about it would be rather pointless… It could hardly get worse for you, could it?  
Aziraphale pulled a key from his pocket, intending to unlock the door when Crowley suddenly leaned over his shoulder and simply pushed the door open.  
“Really Crowley? What is the point of having keys if you’re simply going to-”  
“He doesn’t have his key. He gave it to me.”  
Aziraphale jumped as he was cut off by a feminine voice coming from inside his shop. He turned to Crowley for an explanation when the voice continued.  
“Though, in all fairness, he still didn’t _have_ to unlock the door via miracle for you. Coulda just let you do it. But, anything for you angel.”  
Crowley hissed, striding ahead of Aziraphale to find Morgan standing among the artfully disorganised piles of books. She grinned innocently up at him as he grabbed her arm tightly.  
“You alright?” Crowley asked curtly, letting go of her as Aziraphale joined them.  
“Peachy.”  
“What the- how in God’s- how did you even get here?” Aziraphale could feel an annoyed bewilderment growing in his mind with every step he took towards the Abomination.  
“Well, that’s a little personal isn’t it?” Morgan smiled cockily in a fashion that was eerily similar to Crowley’s. “But I didn’t just pop into existence in here like I did at Crowley’s. Nope, this place is _soaked_ in your energy, makes it way too difficult to find a way through. So he gave me the key.” Morgan jerked a thumb at Crowley before extending her hand to Aziraphale.  
“Hello by the way. I’m the Abomination formerly known as Lady Morgana LeFay. But you can call me Morgan. It’s nice to meet you again while I’m sober Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate.”  
When Aziraphale didn’t take her hand immediately, Morgan sighed and gestured to her hand with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows. “Come on Angel, it won’t bite.”  
“It’s not the hand biting that I’m worried about.” Aziraphale muttered darkly, surprised to hear Morgan laugh brightly. He had been trying to be rude. But he took her hand cautiously anyway, only to let out a light gasp of shock as a tingling electric sensation travelled up his arm from their clasped palms.  
She- she felt like Crowley! Alright, it wasn’t as strong as Crowley’s energy, muddled together with the traces of humanity and something darker that he couldn’t identify properly, but Aziraphale had 6000 years of locating Crowley by energy signature alone. And that was definitely Crowley’s energy radiating under his palm, emanating from Morgan.  
Crowley hissed once again and almost began to vibrate slightly on the spot out of sheer agitation.  
He was done for now. The angel would _definitely_ notice the much darker, more primal energy that kept Morgan alive, and then the awkward questions would begin… Crowley wondered if returning to his natural snaky self and slithering out of the door would be too dramatic… probably not for him, but Aziraphale wouldn’t be impressed. He noticed Aziraphale beginning to glance back and forth between him and Morgan, no doubt attempting to note all of the other similarities they shared. And, oh boy, after so many centuries, Crowley could easily point them out for him.  
The same cocky smile, that blessed tattoo, the offensively casual banter, their shared love of being overly theatrical, the lack of concern over what they were (and of revealing it to people[9])… for Satan’s sodding sake, they were even currently mirroring each other’s posture right now! Crowley’s list could go on and on! It would be easier for him just to point out the differences; Morgan being soft and curved to Crowley’s own angular and thin frame, her dark human eyes to his bright yellow slits, her human bleeding heart to his slightly scarred demon one, her special ability with both the natural world and the unnatural- no, no. The angel didn’t know about that yet, or why…  
In fact, Aziraphale had been doing _exactly_ what Crowley had predicted, just now coming to the conclusion that the aforementioned similarities were so clear that there was no sense in denying the reality of the entire situation.  
“Well then dear boy, it truly does seem you have a daughter-” Aziraphale watched in concerned alarm as Crowley suddenly broke into undignified splutters and Morgan smiling that cocky smile.  
“What? What did I say? Is that not the appropriate term to use? You _created_ her, yes?”  
“Hng-yeeahh…” Crowley managed to recover, now actively looking anywhere but the befuddled angel; which meant catching Morgan’s eye and recognising the guilt that flickered in there for just a second[10].  
Luckily, Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the minute exchange.  
“You know, I’m still slightly confused by your, ah, _creation_ my dear.” Aziraphale finally released Morgan’s hand, becoming aware he had not let go, “Crowley has yet to divulge that information.”  
“Oh?” Morgan delicately raised her eyebrow, feeling the panic rolling off of Crowley.  
“Yes… he said it was transmutation, but he didn’t say why it had occurred.”  
Morgan smirked, hiding her own reservation over finally allowing Aziraphale to know the whole story. And with the panicked serpent across from her, Morgan tried to dissuade too much investigation.  
“It’s a long story.”  
“I enjoy long stories.” Aziraphale returned her smirk with a cold, polite smile of his own, happy to call her bluff. Just who did this child take him for? He was a Principality, not some pushover.  
“Gah, fine! She was dead! Well, dying, and I just- I just couldn’t let her- I couldn’t Aziraphale, I just couldn’t let it happen.” Crowley burst out, visibly deflating with every word that escaped him.  
In the silence that followed, Aziraphale watched as Morgan was at Crowley’s side in a flash and rest her hand on his arm softly, all of her attention focused on him. An action so tender and caring, Aziraphale could feel it himself, his residual anger and hurt towards Crowley beginning to fade away. Despite Heaven’s enforced hate of Abominations, as an Angel, Aziraphale could not ignore the very obvious caring bond between Crowley and Morgan. After all, Crowley had always had a soft spot for human children; and who truly knew about Morgan? Love was a strong force, perhaps it was possible for Abominations to keep their human ability to love… Aziraphale sighed.  
“How could you think that Crowley?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but glance to the section of the bookshop that housed his beloved Oscar Wilde first editions. “That I wouldn’t understand, as if I have not cared so deeply for humans only to watch them die. Their lives are so short compared to ours, it can’t be helped.”  
Crowley snorted pathetically, lifting an eyebrow as Morgan gave him a smirk before grinning at Aziraphale.  
“I think I’m evidence that might say otherwise.” She commented.  
Aziraphale let out a weak chuckle, pleased to feel the tension lift slightly.  
“Clearly my dear.”  
Crowley shrugged Morgan’s hand off with a cough, straightening to look over at Aziraphale once more.  
“So…?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You gonna get mad anymore angel?”  
“That depends. Will you finally tell me everything? How it happened and why?”  
“Ooh! Story time!” Morgan clapped her hands childishly with a beaming smile, startling both Angel and Demon. “I love this story!”  
Crowley sighed tiredly and slipped his glasses down to stare directly at Aziraphale.  
“The actual event, you really want to know what happened?”  
“I think I need to, yes.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his coat slightly under Crowley’s bright gaze. “Yes.”  
“Even though you won’t like it?”  
“How can you know tha-”  
“Look, I know the ending Aziraphale,” Morgan cut in, “and the beginning really. Trust me, you’re not gonna like it.”  
“And pray tell, why not?” Aziraphale was unable to stop his snappish tone, his new knowledge of Morgan’s existence still prickling his own nature uncomfortably.  
“Pray? That’s unlikely to happen anytime soon. But it’s mostly because of my mother’s involvement.”  
“Your mother… her _mother_? You said she wasn’t created in the human way!” Aziraphale accused, his attention turning back to Crowley sharply.  
Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes. This was it, nothing else for it. Time to take that metaphorical plunge off the cliff with the truth tied to his ankles like a boulder…  
“She _wasn’t_! I didn’t lie to you. Morgan’s mother, she- she’s, oh fuck it. Morgan’s mother was Adam’s _first_ wife. You know, Queen of Purgatory, mother of demons, etc, etc.”  
Aziraphale stared, face going blank in pure, unadulterated shock as his blood ran cold[11].

Surely, _surely_ , Crowley didn’t mean- he _couldn’t_!  
Not _her_ , not _Lilith_?!  
Sensing that no one was going to speak anytime soon, both angel and demon seemingly frozen in a panicky tableau, Morgan cleared her throat politely.  
“I think it might be better if we start explaining from my beginning, yes?”  


><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><  


  
[1] **Hah**. The irony.  
[2] Go- Sat- SOMEONE knew why Crowley bothered with a kitchen, give his lack of need for food. But everything in it was pristine, advanced and functional. If only because of the last time Morgan bitched at him for not being able to provide coffee when she randomly appeared had left more than just plants traumatised in the flat.  
[3] Having already rang Aziraphale and arranged to meet in St James park, Crowley's last job was to keep Morgan from pulling the ol’ “renegade witch” shtick. Easier said than done though, she was _his_ child after all.  
[4] Not something Aziraphale was keen to try again.  
[5] Aziraphale was sure that if ravens were capable of it, this raven would be smirking.  
[6] A minor miracle was then used to ensure that the Bentley avoided hitting a small child that had momentarily escaped the grasp of its parent and run onto the road. However, instead of being squished, the child had ended up running into a lamp post on the **other** side of the road. Crowley had panicked.  
[7] Not that he'd make it easy, dragging his feet the entire way and going dead weight. Given his natural snakiness, Crowley was good at going dead weight on people.  
[8] His mind wanted to say evil, but the angel simply couldn’t imagine Crowley actually _being_ evil per say… annoying and frustrating, yes; but never outright evil.  
[9] Once Morgan had pointed out to him that humans nowadays were inexplicably into the dark and unnatural, Crowley had delighted in just simply stating he was a demon to human’s faces. One rather heavily made up teenager had even asked Crowley where he had gotten the “satanic” contacts from. He’d laughed for hours.  
[10] And in that second, Crowley was incredibly grateful for his dark glasses for hiding _his_ guilt.  
[11] He’d been wrong. Apparently creating an Abomination through transmutation could get worse.  



End file.
